Without traversing past
the moments lived
or otherwise
where am I to find
the same river
to step in twice?
Crossing many bridges
arching over memories
that do not exist
where am I to find
the one moment
where I'm stuck still?
A lake, a pond, a puddle
within Heraclitus's river,
I am antithesis to none
other than myself
Living in both,
the past flown past
and the future not yet
all the while
as the present drifts away
unlived yet again.
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