These three remain, fear
Hope, and nostalgia--
The thing with dark teeth,
The thing with feathers,
And the thing with paws.
The first two command
The future, flanking
The way on each side,
Poking us behind
And luring us on,
To what? Infernal
Distractions, they scratch
Each peaceful moment
With terror and greed.
Nothing is too much
For either of them,
Yet never enough
For that third monster
Of unease, always
Sighing, glancing back,
Glowing nostalgia,
The velvet hunger,
The leonine eyes.
These three remain, but
Worst is nostalgia.
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