Time’s Arrow

The future happened yesterday,
tomorrow fell at dawn.
Hindsight sits awaiting,
silent and forlorn.

Potential dried and withered
as prospects never were.
A month of Sundays marched
to battles not occurred.

Time’s arrow left its quiver,
blunted, veering, dull.
Lost in a maze of retrospect,
amongst best laid plans’ cruel cull.

Nostalgia’s optimism,
tempered by its pain,
Smashed rose-tinted windows
until nothing now remains.