THE FUTURE BEHIND ME
By: R. Christopher
My past stretches out before me.
The far ago blurs in the distance of years.
Some memories are sharp and clear,
for I’ve oft revisited those pleasant times.
Some scream out their warning cries,
telling me to avoid their painful remembrances.
Nearer memories fresh and new.
The recent past not wholly reconciled.
Maybe to blaze in vivid clarity
or fade to half-remembered obscurity.
Time will sort them out, for I cannot.
Over my shoulder the future becomes the past.
Glimpsed out of the corner of my eye.
The present rushes by so fast
it can hardly be comprehended.
Sometimes I fear I lag behind
then run so fast that I trip.
Time ignores my stumbling strides.
He’s not known as one who’ll wait.
Unknown and only darkly divined
by examining the past’s vague hints,
the future gallops on swift moving hooves,
from behind where I cannot see.
Furiously charging comes the time to be.
Inexorable and incessant.
Wrapped in a cloak of mystery
he carries the unknown, and the unexpected.
In his hand is the sword of fate
that must one day fall on me
bringing an end, and perhaps a beginning.
I love this poem.
Extremely effective use of movement that continues to build momentum (two steps forward, one back) until its stunning non-end. Very, very nice.
THE FUTURE BEHIND ME
By: R. Christopher
My past stretches out before me.
The far ago blurs in the distance of years.
Some memories are sharp and clear,
for I’ve oft revisited those pleasant times.
Some scream out their warning cries,
telling me to avoid their painful remembrances.
Nearer memories fresh and new.
The recent past not wholly reconciled.
Maybe to blaze in vivid clarity
or fade to half-remembered obscurity.
Time will sort them out, for I cannot.
Over my shoulder the future becomes the past.
Glimpsed out of the corner of my eye.
The present rushes by so fast
it can hardly be comprehended.
Sometimes I fear I lag behind
then run so fast that I trip.
Time ignores my stumbling strides.
He’s not known as one who’ll wait.
Unknown and only darkly divined
by examining the past’s vague hints,
the future gallops on swift moving hooves,
from behind where I cannot see.
Furiously charging comes the time to be.
Inexorable and incessant.
Wrapped in a cloak of mystery
he carries the unknown, and the unexpected.
In his hand is the sword of fate
that must one day fall on me
bringing an end, and perhaps a beginning.