Future, Present, Past, each is inconstant as the sea,
This is how it ever has been, and how it ever will be.
Like a fire in the dark on a cold winter night,
For its comfort and warmth we all yearn.
And, like a fire that blazes too bright,
It has also the power to burn.
Yesterday, Memory, Days of Yore,
The Past has many a name.
And whether we choose to recall, or ignore,
It beckons and burns just the same.
Like a brilliant dream, free of toil or care,
We treasure it dear as breath.
Like a night terror, almost too horrid to bear,
We're its captives, from cradle 'til death.
Today, the Here and Now, Everyday Life,
The Present has many a name,
And though we feel bliss, indifference or strife,
We nurse it and curse it the same.
Like the beam of a lighthouse, it buoys our souls,
It's a beacon that urges us on.
But sometimes it promises perilous shoals,
And sometimes, the light isn't on.
Evermore, Destiny, Fate, Tomorrow,
The Future has many a name.
And whether it offers us hope, or sorrow,