Can we ever gain back what is lost?

Is the past then nothing more than a feined memory,

One that changes as it is blown by the winds of time-

Changed into something that turns as it grows,

That Rises as it dies?

One cannot follwo its troubling flight,

Cannot trace the path which it creates,

For it runs far too fast,

Nay it hides far too well.

Yet even though it may be impossible,

It is something we must seek-

A dream that must be treasured.

That must be remembered.

For it is our creator and our leader,

And though it may be often a curse,

It is yet the greatest gift that ever has to us been given.

It is the beauty of our existance,

And the purpose of our life.

Nay, Tis the Proof that we are in fact alive.

And for that I cry,

As the edged of my lips curve in respect for every word,

For all the lies.

For that I cry.