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Monday, July 7, 2014

Is it for real?

Through my lens, I see,
What life, one day shall be,
If only future, I could tell,
And, on past, not dwell.
 
The fear, of the imminent,
Of being forever transient,
I feel like I am done,
But I have far from begun.
 
I wonder about the whys,
Zest for life, has demised.
Miles and miles, I have left,
At prospects, I seem bereft.

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