The past

The past
is an archive of events
even when I die,
you turn back your neck
and I'll eternally
have what came
before

and there's somewhere
somewhere a man
singing softly
unique and parched
it's all the pain
holding her
in my arms

Vessel to the words
he can't see before
before the chords

Maddened by a red sun
skeptical
going on through this
and behind
a wagging tail
the sands continue
to sift