Minds wander to parts unknown,
some with aim, to others thrown.
There is no box to contain,
or a shelter from the rain.
~
The future’s seen, journeys guessed,
all’s good when none best.
But for time all is still,
all the won’t is the will.
~
The more torn is more to mend,
to find or fix there is no end.
Eyes open all’s insight,
mind open all’s to write.
~
There is no end to this poem,
for my mind does still roam.
Perhaps tomorrow we will see,
to where this future’s taken me.

~*~
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