I can't know, not really
Until the moment is past
And action has made its mark
In the universe.
Write a poem
Defy logic
And pattern
Make art
And be startled
By the end result
Surprised as anyone else
At what was made.
Randomly listen to
Nuances and my patterns
Look more like chaos
With serendipitous purpose.
You can only see the pattern
When you look back on the past
And only faith in the absurd
Psychic walking stick
Gives light to the future.
Just because no one else
Can see it,
Doesn't mean it's not there.
It's so random.
Some moments
My vision stretches forward
For decades.
Others I'm lucky if I have
Thirty seconds…
For me the future
Is always there,
As solid as the present
Or the past,
And much of the time
Knowing doesn't make
It any better.
So while I muddle
And stumble through
The dark of life,
Created by the utter
Blinding light of too
Much to do,
Too little time,
And more stimulus
Than you can shake a stick at,
I'll just keep going forward
It's not like
Time doesn't march on anyway.
