What Was Once
When people speak of the times before now,
To what are they referring?
It is oft said upon others, where is the person once known?
Always does it come back to ‘what was once?’
And what was yesterday, but yet another reflection,
Moments caught up in the hourglass of reason,
Echoes receding like a thousand lost footsteps, a dereliction,
Abandoned thoughts, careless whispering,
Thoughts lost over time, traceable only by memory,
Inner portraits of the person still present,
Foundations from creation, drifting in err,
Illusions of what was once, now spent,
And what was once our yesterdays are sands slipping through rifts,
Of time, like escaping breath caught up on a cold day,
Held momentarily in a void, before the wind will shift,
Them away into nothing, so that may become our philosophy.
What was once simply was.