The past travels with us.

The past travels with us.

A stalking horse,

So close we hear

The pounding of its hooves.

It fills the ears,

A sound that chills the bones.

And every step of the way

We fear it is a race

That will out run us.

It is the deep dark hole

Into which, we stumble,

When the way ahead

Proves too much to entertain

Our humble wandering,

And in the lure of stepping back,

We slip, between

The cracks

That open, ever wider.

We walk in darkened halls.

High corridors,

Lined with uncertain things,

A landfill of old failings.

Searching, for a ladder

To help us climb

From deep within the gloom.

And bring us, ever closer,

To an answer.

Still we fall.

As the ground beneath our feet

Begins to crumble.

And so it goes,

Until we step away,

Push the past,

And all its stories

Far behind us,

Stack them up against the wall

Or in a corner.

Where, once in time

We can call it all to order,

And then leave it,

Whilst we, at long last

Journey, beyond its

Too familiar.

Self defeating, border.