Eventide
Approaching the gloaming now,
the dawn seems eons behind.
The dark of night waits,
patiently biding it’s time behind a
faint early evening star.
It was noon only a minute ago,
brightly shining with hope,
plans made with surety,
more time than dreams to fill it.
Now, awaiting an uncertain future,
the hours already spent
seem but trumpery
when placed beside
the time remaining.
Too much wastage,
squandered could haves,
elusive promises.
Still, there’s work to do,
and yes, time to do it.
What’s left is now,
today,
this moment,
as the sun fully sets,
dawn and dark of night
the same gift of opportunity,
like a poem,
somewhere between
a vision and a dream.
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