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
In a dim light... 