At the End of a Chapter

The oulden days were great, we say, 
Looking straight ahead; 
At times we think of turning back, 
But lo – the past is dead. 

The memories we hold so close, 
Sunkissed and divine, 
Rest immobile against the breast 
Of fallen strokes of time. 

For now, alack, we find ourselves 
Restless and adrift 
At the end of the world, no matter where 
We choose to end our shift. 

Yesterday is a foregone thing, 
Tomorrow hasn’t passed; 
Vice or virtue, it’s all the same: 
The present will not last.