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The Future


From the midst a vehicle appears,

moving toward you without driver nor passengers.

Stopping before where you stand,

the door rises.

Willing and with eagerness you enter.

Seated with anticipation but unknown as to why

you set your buckle and settle in.

The vehicle begins to move,

but this time not in the same path as it approached.

You peer out the window, faint at first, but coming into focus

familiarity overwhelms you.

Your triumphs, fears and failures scroll across the frame.

The lessons that shaped you, the life you led.

The vehicle stops, but the door does not open.

you are still secured by the strap and buckle.

The vehicle moves, but this time,

momentum holds you into the seat.

In to view are visions of things you have not lived.

Uncertainty and excitement overwhelm you,

moments of time that you have pondered but never lived scroll across the frame.

The Future


A few weeks ago while cleaning out a file cabinet in my office I came across a manila folder.  At first sight I was a bit taken back.  “What is this?” I thought. “Could it be?” “I thought I had lost these!”, whispered from my lips.  My eyes were fixated upon the single word, “Poetry”.  It sat innocently on the tab in the upper right corner and was recognizably, penned by my own hand so many years ago.  The edges were tattered and browned due to usage and age but everything else was intact.  As I opened the cover I was overwhelmed.  Familiarity and excitement, albeit, hued with anticipation and fear were settling in.  There before me were my own works, some in my own hand writing and some typed.  I spent the few moments thumbing through them, all the while, memories of the circumstances of each of their authorship not only came alive on paper but also in my minds eye.  How long had it been since I had placed this simple set of papers in this folder and placed them in their tomb only to be forgotten.

I cannot remember exactly when I wrote, “The Future”.  I can only speculate it was sometime during my time in the military, given I took this style of writing up to deal with the circumstances of the time.  Unfortunately at that time in my life I was not wise enough to date my work.  I can only assume that this was written near the end of the 8 years and upon my discharge.  Possibly even on the dawn of the day of discharge when I sat on the beach of the Windward shores of Oahu prior to driving through the main gates of Pearl Harbor Naval Station for the last time.

I have made a few minor edits in wording and flow but other than that the work remains true to it’s original form.  I am in no way claiming to be a poet, in fact, I am not even sure if this can be classified as poetry.  I am just an explorer navigating my way through uncharted waters willing to share my adventures with you.

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do.


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Categories: Poetry, WritingTags: , , , , , ,

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