Echoes of struggle clash through,
shattering the Witness.
Particles of Tradition unbound
slip through the fingers
unable to clasp them,
and the sore shoulders,
damaged from inactivity,
can’t bear the feather-weight burdens.
It’s much which has been lost
in futile contemplation,
but perhaps it’s more
when there’s a reward
for deeds in expectation.
In patient recursive motion
we step forth day by day
to the traps set by them
on days past before yesterday.
But if we Remember
and look to the Past,
we may redeem and push,
through persistent Will-Force
and guiding Intuition.