Forward

The lazy dreams that time doth swallow,
with every breath, seconds die.
Each time that lingers borrows forth
moments thus forever lost.

Restrained to keep on moving forward,
compelled to be forever vain.
No measure, nor book, nor rule unspoken
that guides the course of untrodden ways.

Thus every second of every minute
of every hour of every day
of every week of every month
of every year passes away.
But right this moment, this moment lives,
no, not that one, but this one now.
All you can do: do what you will
for the past, is not to drown.