Yesterday seems far away,
Lurking in the distance,
It's remnants remaining in today,
Holding on with mulish persistence.
It says, "question the rising of the sun,
From the East and not the West.
Question why the wind chooses to run,
And never lingers for a rest."
Yesterday is a truth, waiting to be told,
It hold's on to our memory,
So that even when ours get old;
It can whisper these secrets in our reverie,
So we call it Déjà vu.
A 'Frenchly' named phenomenon,
A machete cutting through,
The fungal growth our hopes have grown on.