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.
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Something sad about these words but so very beautifully presented