I don’t look back — Not yet! Not yet!

A poem.

I

I don’t look back — Not yet! Not yet!
Regret resides in Retrospect.
Foul ogre, shunning all creation,
Hides in the deep in anticipation
Of sustenance thrown in the pits
For him by even lesser men
Who have not flesh enough to rot —

They are all bones!
Not even bones,
Which cannot help but turn to dust!

They are the never-living ones,
Who in their hollow visage laugh
At the workings of Decay —
The one I favor, for her touch
Favors only breathing things,
And leaves alone perpetual death,
To feed on ever sweeter Change.

If there is life, it putrefies,
But life brings Life, the cycle
Of the blessed and cursed, in turn —
All who share in being
From the accident of birth.

II

So, to accept Nature’s harsh decree,
Which otherwise would be hateful to me,
I don’t look back —
Instead, I run,
Spewing inspiration, barely chewed on.

As Flesh is not the sole creator,
We must do as Flesh with the Intellect —
These propagate in separate spheres,
Though are bound as one to mortal years.

III

The Child is shiny, bald, and new,
And welcomed by the ones who learn
To forget the workings of decay —
For a raising that spans just a day!
We offer blinded sacrifice
Manifested in its cries —
To bring to life, to look ahead —
And never back — Not yet! Not yet!

Perhaps until the Final Act —
That Retrospect, the unknown fact.