As I could not be the amnesiac,

the man bereft of a past,

what else could I do?

Blackboards burning, seared chalk.

Equations read by most like hieroglyphs.

"Impossible," they said.

"He is mad," they said.

Impossible.

Weary, but I labor on

to discover my way

into the maze of time,

into the past, where I can save them.

My passion,

greater than the task