little by little

the future manifests in the now

and all we had with us

turns to dust in the hand

an outline of the intention

inching in what can be called a direction

toward what can be called a destination

we stand still

and watch bug-eyed at the passage of everything

we think we need

but little by little

what is to be reflects what has been

and we're nowhere near

the perfection we deceitfully claim

the reality beyond every convention that conditions us

so we watch the worldly reality with which

we torment each other with our own "purity" of notion

collapse around our agendas

and yet another age soils its start and winds us

into its place in the flux of actuality

and even at that the tomorrow we waited on yesterday

is today and will be tomorrow's yesterday

before we even realize the passing

of what could be called now

we control nothing but our own grief and this only because

we cling to an imagined today

that was today yesterday and will be again tomorrow

Content (c) 2008-2011 Philip Milito.