The past lies beneath me, a browning field
Tickling through my skirt,
Picking which nerves should be poked next,
Asking for resurrections I can never promise.
 
The present comes to me in an eager cat,
Brushing its whiskers against my skin,
Claws sheathed, purring sweetly
Demanding an alertness of sorts I have never known.
 
The future whistles in as a phantom wind,
With its thin fingers kissing my face
And knitting knots in my hair distractedly,
Hungry for tales of a stranger named fate.

I thought of this while I was reading a book outside on a breezy day and my cat was bugging me. I saw the needs of the world around me. The way I see it, the past stings - at least, only if you dwell on it - because it so desperately wants to be alive again. The present, on the other hand, is alive, like my cat, demanding it be fed right now so life can be sustained. Because that is what the present calls us to do - to act. The future, however, is neither dead, nor alive, like the wind. I saw the future as a wistful daydreamer, like Cinderella waiting for her ball, keeping the currents up because duty is duty, but wondering when fate will whisk it away and make it's daydreams real in the present.

September, 2015

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R. L. McCallum
over 4 years

Very poetically rendered. Loved it!

Robert L. Martin
over 4 years

nice

Vic
over 4 years

Beautiful imagery. Brilliant... Love it!

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Cory Garcia Vic R. L. McCallum
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