The Past

The past beats inside me like a second heart,

my yesterdays walk with me, it hurts,

it lies upon me like a giant's dead body

devastating, uncontrollable

dense with misery and sullied with remembrances

it plants its prey

cornered, jam-packed, and wheezing for reconciliation

in the maze of the current.

Anxiety, dismay, fear, an entreating melee

until finally, a submergence, a obscuring in the nadirs of depress.

Inexorable, ceaseless, strenuous the hunted

the past trails, the past stalks,

the past Hunts.

By Seth Yuhi Musinga