I turned upon heel

 and to the future I did look,

A sudden fear came upon me

when mine eyes partook,

For lain before me, I could see

Old smelly men with shallow dreams

Limping, and clawing at invisible things

 With their dusty minds that revel still

Of yet another day and time.

With cheap tricks, and cheap wine,

All praying for one more chance

 of dying.

 Startled and shook by this morbid look,

I turned hence from where I came.

And greeted still was I,

by the future

That was the past in another time.

For on crippled feet, old men sustained,

Marching forward,

yet back from where they came.

This cannot be thought I,

For to move forward is to die,

Yet to cling to the past, results in a fate

That like the future will not last.

For this I conclude,

it is the present in which

I shall remain.

J. Allen Wilson © 2003