Poetry

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Yet to Be Done


Retiring for the night we fall fast asleep,
blending reality and fantasy in our dreams,
joys, laughter to sorrow for which we weep,
yesterday mixed with tomorrow’s schemes.

All alone in the debts of the dark of night,
waging war in our own mindful illusions,
fighting to survive while held by our fright,
what is, what is not, fills us with confusion.

Spirits dance in the corridors of our mind,
lost at sea, a speck in life’s gigantic ocean,
passing so slowly in the hourglass of time,
inconceivable thoughts in all the commotion.

Sound asleep yet feeling so alive and aware,
random thoughts racing, who knows where,
the good, the bad, the ugly, love once shared,
then suddenly, sounds here and now over there.

Night visions bring us back to a time borrowed,
where guilt and innocence blend to become one,
with anticipation we reluctantly visit tomorrow,
consumed with the energy of things yet to be done.


Samuel E. Stone, Copyright© 2009, All Audiences

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