In the morning
and in night’s black,
we stay the same
in all life’s little acts.
We are the extras;
actors on a stage.
Inquire I the future,
like a studious sage.
I plot my course
for the way to it now.
Though butterfly wings
bring futures down.
Calculate the venture
in accordance with time.
I seek truths forgotten
while the earth’s maligned.
The clock is constant
it will not bend for me.
The future is never
where I want it to be.
I’ll set stage lights,
let the show resume.
In the end the lights
reveal a heart consumed.
Consumed with desire
to make a mark on time.
Making memories to
hold something divine.
Categories: Poetry
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