My future waits for me alone

Is it just sitting there waiting?
The future, that is
Or is it there at all?
Yet, whatever it is, it looms
Often dreaded
Occasionally filled with hope

Our present steps into that future
Or, perhaps, the future comes toward us
As our past is pulled away
Pulled away with its regrets and joys
Pulled away with its dreams
Fulfilled or deferred

Aren’t we left, really, with only today?
Today, the present, belongs to both
Past and future
Who I am is a remnant of my own past
My present is experienced by no other
My future waits for me alone

©2017 Thomas W. Cummins

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