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Against the Tide

  • Matthew Lifton
  • Feb 18, 2025
  • 1 min read

Everything I do as the me of the now shall be in service of the me of the then 


A man whose footsteps trace some faraway autumn breeze


In a place I cannot yet be


Seeing sights I cannot yet see


Hearing chimes I cannot yet distinguish 


Thinking thoughts I cannot yet think


As I trust 


That he shall remember the dreams the me of the now holds


And trek the path that I can only hope I one day step foot


So I hoist my sails


My hands firmly on the wheel 


With my rudder facing the way by which I came


And even as the voices of a not-so-distant past beckon 


I face my head in the bow’s direction


As it only stifles growth


To sail against the tide



 
 
 

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