I cannot tell of the memory I see,

As I look into the night before me.

That distant sun that died,

Made its way to become my eye,

But I cannot recall being part of the light

That makes up this spectacular night,

As I watch that which died to become me

and then, I get the sense

of looking in a mirror,

I am looking at a memory of me

And in that brief moment,

 past and future become entwined

It is conscious of I, 

And I become conscious of time, 

How old I’ve become in all this flesh,

For I am so much younger now, 

Than the time I spent as light in the heaven.


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