The patience that I have is almost gone;
Why must my brain torment me thus? What good
Comes out of thinking always on "I should"
And never on "I can"? No, never on
The possibilities that might be drawn
Out of the present, always that which ought or could
Have been or someday be. I wish it would
Be sensible, and not forever fawn
Over the past and future. What about today?
What can I do right now? I cannot tell
Because my brain is stuck another way
And will not focus. Still, all may be well;
I'll write down what it says I ought to do
And when the time comes, try to make it true.
No comments:
Post a Comment