The Detroit times. [volume] (Detroit, Mich.) 1903-1920, 1916-07-24
Yesterday.
~ Or. FRANK CRANE
Copyright. 1916. by Frank Crape)

am yesterday.
l am gone from you forever.
am the last of a long procession of
days, streaming behind you. away from
you. pouring into mist and obscurity, and
at last into the ocean of oblivion.
Each of us has his burden, Of triumph.
OF defeat, of laughter, of bitterness: we
bear our load from you into forgetful-
ness; yet as we go we each leave some
thing in your Inconsistencies.
We fill your souls cellar.
depart from you. yet am ever with
you.
Once / was called Tomorrow, and was
virgin pure; then became your bride and
was named Today; now am Yesterday.
and carry upon me the eternal stain of
your embrace.
l am one of the leaves of a growing
book. There are many pages before me.
Some day you shall turn us all over and
read us and know what you are.
| am pale, for have no hope. Only
memories.
| am rich, for | have wisdom.
/ bore you a child, and left him with
you. His name is Experience.
You do not like TO look at me. am
not pretty. i am majestic, fateful, seri-
Gus.
You do not love my voice. 1t does not
speak to your desires; it is cool and even
and full of prudence
/ am Yesterday; yet am the same as
Today and Forever; for AM YOU; and
you cannot escape from yourself.
Sometimes talk with my companions
about you. Some Of us carry the scars
of your cruelty. Some the wretchedness
of your crime. Some the beauty Of your
goodness We do not love you. We do
not hate you. We Judge you.
We have no compassion; only Today
has that. We have no encouragement for
you; only Tomorrow has that.
We stand at the front door Of the past
welcoming the single file Of days, that
pass through, watching Tomorrows be-
coming Todays and then enter among us.
Little by little we suck out your life,
as vampires. AS you grow older we abb
sorb your thought. You turn to us more
and, more, less and less toward Tomor-
row.
Our SHOWS cumber your back and
whiten your head Our icy waters put
out your passions. Our exhalations dim
your hopes. Our many tombstones crowd
into your landscape. Our dead loves.
burnt out enthusiasms, shattered dream
houses dissolved illusions, move to you,
surround you.
Tomorrows come unnoticed. Todays
slip by unheeded. More and more you
become creature of Yesterdays.
Ours are banquet halls full Of wine
soaked tablecloths, broken viands, wilted
roses.
Ours are empty churches. where aspira-
tons were, where only ghosts are.
Ours are CHASTITY Pompeiian streets,
rich galleons a hundred fathoms deep,
genealogical lists of sonorous names,
mummies in museums, fragmentary pill
lars of battered temples, inscriptions on
bricks of Ninevah. huge stone gates
standing amidst the tropical verdure OF
Yucatan, Etruscan wine jars now dry and
empty forever.
Ours are the old credulities. With US
are Wotan, Zeus, Ormuzd, Isis, Vishnu.
From us comes that miasm Of inertia
that holds humanity in thrall; from us
comes the strength of war-makers mon
archs. and all the privileged.
We reach up long, sinewy, gray arms
Of custom and tradition to choke Today
and impede Tomorrow
We are the worlds Yesterdays. If you
knew enough to put your feet upon us
you might rise rapidly. But when you let
us ride on your backs we strangle and
smother you.
am Yesterday. Learn to look me In
the face. to use me, and not to be afraid
Of me.
am not your friend. I am your judge
faar