Present

No more songs;

I wish to sleep,

And lay my head

On silence’s bosom;

Dream of tomorrow,

Though it’ll ne’er come.

For ‘now’ is ever

And forever,

The only moment

We may indulge;

Future’s silent -

An empty tomb

And past is ashes -

A dead word.

Why, then,

Do I weep

The nights away

In prayer,

As the spectre of Future awaits,

And the wraith of Past stalks me?

No more songs;

It pains me to remember

What has yet to come;

Though it will pass,

As all things come to;

Still, I dread the moment,

That I know will hurt.

I don’t want to hurt.