Presence is a fickle thing,
We can doubt and prod our existence,
We can feel like currency,
We can feel like our soul is but a thread,
And the scissors are in hands of everyone but you.
The hope can run out.
You can hide from the past,
You can hide from today,
You can be blind to the future,
And the clock still ticks and the change will consume you.
In a second, that itch you scratch,
Bores a hole so deep,
All that you hid from is before your eye and gnaws at your heart.
Who you are is becoming.
I was an influence,
I am a presence,
I will be cherished.
No more excuses to be under this rock.
To be remembered,
To be unknown, yet to be honored,
To be an object of foresight.
To be a case,
To be a goal,
To be a namesake.