A Window to Tomorrow (title of poem)
As yet another year approaches I am invited to dwell on
That fickle and feisty past, what it will, at last, mean in the long run;
If each day is but a fragile chain the which we frantically connect
Or fail to, a train that takes us yonder or triturates asunder
Our very plans, then it should be possible, with but a special glimpse,
To ascertain what lies ahead; as I sit by my candle, dipping
In the jeweled inkwell, striving to plan each coming day, I find myself
Ill-equipped to prepare for a future full of special challenges,
Tasks I may not be fully qualified to complete, a fiendish feat
Others may also fear; there’re gargantuan global bars the which
Have not been before, a hapless planet teetering on the verge of
Collapse, its resources fully taxed, while humanity’s appetite
Keeps growing, each dying ember of each passing day, alas, slowing,
Promising a totally new card to play—not originally
In the pack; won’t silly Man be surprised to find that neither flora
Nor fauna will soothe his hunger, as their numbers globally deplete
While ours rest in conceit; what exactly will we do for clean water
When we continue to wantonly pollute, so resolute in our
Arrogance? Where to find clean air, if the “lungs” in South America
Continue to shrink? Will there ever be peace, combatants, as long as
We continue to wage war, e’en, supposedly, “with good intentions?”
For my part, I ache to think of what lies ahead, a world of wonders
But also of dread, a globe filled with wonderful possibilities,
For which we mostly lack the brass will, the imagination, and the
Resources; though I’m constrained to worry, to feel sorry, to wallow
In despair, I shall endeavour to persevere, to keep up a stiff
Upper lip, thereby, possibly slip, past my reservations, my fears;
As the dry parchment receives my New Year’s resolutions, I shall strive
To be brave, confident, suave and sanguine—what can be more genuine
Than true optimism? Let the globe feel the scourge of my inclinations,
The future the weight of my incantations, desires for better things!
Can my dreams and desires truly overcome the gloom of a full moon?
Is the candy can lane that I would rather paint visions of a saint;
Can my sincerest desires be naught but a window to tomorrow?
Copyright, 2009. Fred Fletcher. All rights reserved.
That fickle and feisty past, what it will, at last, mean in the long run;
If each day is but a fragile chain the which we frantically connect
Or fail to, a train that takes us yonder or triturates asunder
Our very plans, then it should be possible, with but a special glimpse,
To ascertain what lies ahead; as I sit by my candle, dipping
In the jeweled inkwell, striving to plan each coming day, I find myself
Ill-equipped to prepare for a future full of special challenges,
Tasks I may not be fully qualified to complete, a fiendish feat
Others may also fear; there’re gargantuan global bars the which
Have not been before, a hapless planet teetering on the verge of
Collapse, its resources fully taxed, while humanity’s appetite
Keeps growing, each dying ember of each passing day, alas, slowing,
Promising a totally new card to play—not originally
In the pack; won’t silly Man be surprised to find that neither flora
Nor fauna will soothe his hunger, as their numbers globally deplete
While ours rest in conceit; what exactly will we do for clean water
When we continue to wantonly pollute, so resolute in our
Arrogance? Where to find clean air, if the “lungs” in South America
Continue to shrink? Will there ever be peace, combatants, as long as
We continue to wage war, e’en, supposedly, “with good intentions?”
For my part, I ache to think of what lies ahead, a world of wonders
But also of dread, a globe filled with wonderful possibilities,
For which we mostly lack the brass will, the imagination, and the
Resources; though I’m constrained to worry, to feel sorry, to wallow
In despair, I shall endeavour to persevere, to keep up a stiff
Upper lip, thereby, possibly slip, past my reservations, my fears;
As the dry parchment receives my New Year’s resolutions, I shall strive
To be brave, confident, suave and sanguine—what can be more genuine
Than true optimism? Let the globe feel the scourge of my inclinations,
The future the weight of my incantations, desires for better things!
Can my dreams and desires truly overcome the gloom of a full moon?
Is the candy can lane that I would rather paint visions of a saint;
Can my sincerest desires be naught but a window to tomorrow?
Copyright, 2009. Fred Fletcher. All rights reserved.
