LEAVING THE PAST

 

LEAVING THE PAST

 

The future asks for a sacrifice

a gesture, a weight,

something small enough to carry

but heavy enough to matter.

Newton calls it motion.

Einstein calls it light bending.

You call it becoming someone

you weren’t before.

Time is a pulse

tapping under your ribs.

Roads split like bone.

You choose one.

You lose ten.

At the event horizon,

memory thins.

You reach for a harp

tuned by God,

or a piano

worn smooth

by a blind man’s hands.

Whatever sound you make

becomes the past you leave behind.