Moments tend to pass without us taking much notice, <br />-woshing past, giving off one last beautiful farewell call. <br />And by the time we can comprehend, <br />yet another has passed on its way, <br />never to return, gone to the grassy beyond. <br /> <br />The beyond we all try to cling to, <br />with the utmost instinctive grip. <br />One finger clenched onto last vaporous past <br />and the other tethered on the present pole. <br /> <br />We hover, suspended in fog, <br />of what will become of tomorrow. <br />Though we all know tomorrow, will <br />eventually become today<br /><br />Sebastian Sandok<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassiopea/
