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Poem

Sometimes we are filled with the past
so much, that we make present 
part of the past;
only aging and changing of seasons,
that reminds us nature is making
it's own history in the present.

Other times we are afraid of the future;
afraid of anything that resembles a crystal ball,
or sounds like Nastrodamus. This makes us afraid
of planning or even falling asleep;
sleep carries with it dreams;
dreams sometimes are prophetic.

Often we stop ourselves from enjoying the present,
by looking back, wishing things would be different ot change,
and hiding from future's eyes,
afraid it might tell us what we can't do,
or what we may lose....

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