Past is dead

Solemn regret, transgressions fill my head,
a measure of success is how well to forget,
and the past is dead.

Strewn about the battlefield of life are the remainders of history,
when convenient we exalt them and pay them such respect
as if we’re all in an equivalent trajectory.

And trash piles high in the rubble we forgot,
the angels of our nature just sit and watch it rot.

Now the past is dead,
let’s focus on tomorrow instead.
Oh, the tragic present said
the past is dead.

Who can say what constitutes the most important sector of society
when the dominant portion seek an instant gratification
and are proud of intellectual poverty?

I’d like to be empathetic but I can’t,
the jeopardy is too great to make a stand.

Now the past is dead,
good deeds won’t help you get ahead.
The modern signpost read
the past is dead.

My next great decision is just lying in wait,
the action might turn out to be the world’s most grievous mistake.

The past is dead,
more veritable words have never been said,
the tragic present said the past is dead.