War of the Tenses

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What of the today, that was meant to be?
Haunted against the mortal choice
Of an uncommitted past in blur
Unchangeable by today’s tools and thoughts.

One string, thin, viscous with yesterday’s vehemence
The other thickly greased with shards of today’s forgiveness
Churn a helix around the voice that cries out
To synchronise their dues and create the silent moment.

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