Moments tend to pass without us taking much notice,
-woshing past, giving off one last beautiful farewell call.
And by the time we can comprehend,
yet another has passed on its way,
never to return, gone to the grassy beyond.
The beyond we all try to cling to,
with the utmost instinctive grip.
One finger clenched onto last vaporous past
and the other tethered on the present pole.
We hover, suspended in fog,
of what will become of tomorrow.
Though we all know tomorrow, will
eventually become today
I like this very much, sort of basic and grand all at once. Very much. Regards
Sands of Sebastian your pennings are beyond 'ok' they are powerfully exceptional. I have read each of your postings and greatly enjoyed them. Blessings sent for your journey today!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Each poem of yours that I read is a wonderful experience. I'm so glad my friend introduced me to you. --Melvina--