What I was, what I am, and what I'll be,
And what I'm not yet is me eternally.
Every page in the Great Archive of Lores,
And the infinity of every fantasy course.
The past is a broken memory.
Nothing is exact; void is accuracy.
Warped by loss, forever changing,
A pulse of nostalgia always lingering.
The present is a dynamic illusion,
A stagnant image by time's concussion,
A fragment with no beginning nor end,
A mirage past and future lend.
The future is a dream untold,
Something I'll not see unfold,
For I change, I renew, I grow,
But eternity never stops even though.
