“My Past”
The past is somewhat mythological for every human.
We remember our histories to an extent.
Some memories come, but most of the prior moments disappear in time.
I can recall only so many things from childhood.
My life, my entire being, soon reveals the cuts of forgotten changes.
Love gradually turns irrational by empty void and feeling.
No book is made without exclusive material surrounding it.
Do you know why the rabbit goes back to his hole?
Humanity swims, walks, and talks under so much bliss of ignorance.
You’ll look at this poem very much from instinct- memory fills a broken dream.
People will have to find objects without touch.
An image flows through my brain during relapse concerning thought.
Words come to mind; however, I don’t know where they come from.
This speech begins with ideas and ends with disappearing ink.
Eventually all these poetic drifts sit in motion between sight and void.
Just the last 5 seconds have been spent in writing unawares.
How does instinct transform into knowledge of instinct?
Bias is always upon every person for this reason.
It would take a god for any kind of universal innocence.
So, due to nature of memory, my life is somewhat mythological even to myself.
https://www.deviantart.com/gameuniverso/art/My-Past-834846466
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