Back, back and forth.
Looking back and forth.
The past is an anchor, tied to this floating day.
I work too hard to wield this weapon of progress.
I swing it, so angry, to try to cut this weighted rope.
It only freys.
The roots have taken hold.
Losing control, I drop this tool and it sinks.
I dive, I can’t breathe. Let it go.
I must admit that in order to survive, I must accept, learn to recognize my resources.
I pull on the line and I’m dragged up in time.
I am needed now, I am a father now, I must adapt to conquer.
I must try harder.