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What is, was, and will forever be
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Madness The past is an iron vice, a cross we all bear,
a bottomless pit of despair.
It forever lurks in the back of our minds,
tries to catch us off guard and unawares.
It is ever thirsty, for the taste of our flesh and blood,
ever hungry for our darkest fears to manifest.
It is the doorway to what was,
is and should be, it haunts us all, reminding us we'll never be free.
The past goes hand in hand with pride,
righteousness and morality,
it is the root of all our ache.
It is the scar that never really heals,
it is the laughter that never quite dies.
It can crush you into powder,
can scatter into the wind, leaving no trace of being there,
not even a mark.
It comes to visit when we're alone,
striking with a powerful blow.
It is the constant shadow, the doubt that whispers into your ear,
it is the continuous presence when no one else is there.
The past is neither living or dead,
it can't harm you because time has passed since then.
It cannot destroy you unless you give it power,
unless you let it into your head.
The past is no more,
let the ghosts bury their own.
The past can weaken you only if you let it,
be stronger than the memories,
nothing can touch you if you stay strong in the face of your personal hell.
Hold onto the present, the hope of a future,
block out the fears, they can't break you.
Rise from your own ashes,
call a ceasefire in your private war,
slay your own demons and rescue yourself from the tower.
The past is a flame that burns and dances for each of us.
Sometimes its bewitching,
beautiful to watch as it dances and writhes.
Sometimes its hideous,
a pale reminder of what it could become if left unattended.
You can't get too close, the heat itself can consume you,
faster than the skin breaks upon the edge of a blade,
before you know it, you're no more.
You cannot place your hand on a burner without expecting it to scar,
without anticipating the pain.
Fire cannot be tamed,
it is wild and free,
out of control,
till there's nowhere left for it to go.
Playing with it is a tenuous battle at best, fire never plays fair,
the past will look for any chink in your armor,
any weakness it can exploit, drive you down into the ground.
Down in the bowels of hell,
your demons wait, eager to see you fail,
waiting for you to sell your soul.
Just one missed step and they gain the advantage,
don't look back, over your shoulder, don't turn around.
Don't hesitate, don't back down,
don't run, play this round out.
Know yourself, your strengths and weaknesses,
don't let the fire burn you,
the past is only an illusion of our deepest insecurities brought to light.
Memories only have power when you believe,
mountains out of molehills,
pain that seemed unbearable have no control now,
they're nothing at all.
Sooner or later the fire dies to embers,
the wounds heal into scars,
all we have to do is let go.
You can waste an eternity adding more fuel, hurting yourself all over again,
but what kind of existence is that?
You can spend years holding back words instead of letting them go,
but when all is said and done,
all those missed moments add up to a lifetime of what should have been.
You can spend endless amounts of time caught in the web of what once was,
only to miss what now is.
Learn to live with the fire,
find balance, accept what is part of you without letting it define you.
Don't be a slave to your passions and desires,
don't forsake everything for the warmth of familiarity.
Let the past go, live in the world that exists now,
before its too late and you're nothing but charred remains.
