We wade through the waters of life.

Not knowing.

Not seeing.

Against the current.

 

The river flows but forward.

Who are we to stand in its way?

Except to forge a path,

To forge our destiny.

 

We look to the skies,

We look to the rising sun,

For answers.

A glimpse into what is yet to come.

 

At times the way

Is bright,

As clear as day.

 

But,

We cannot truly see.

Nor can we understand,

The path that lies ahead.

 

We can plan, yes.

We can anticipate.

We think we can peek through the looking glass,

To a far-off land.

 

But it is only a mirror that we see.

A reflection.

Of our fears,

Of our convictions.

 

Where can we find meaning?

Where can we find understanding,

In this world of ours?

 

It is in these words of ours,

Wrapped in splendor.

Poems of us,

That can help us remember.

 

The future is not beholden

To the past.

The inadequacies

Shall not be repeated.

 

For every moment that passes,

Is the future turned to present,

Turned to past.

 

And every moment is another way

To build.

To build upon ourselves.

To build upon the present,

That shall become our future.

 

Are we satisfied?

Are we content?

Can we change for the better?

Is this our legacy?

 

The questions hang in the air,

Cold and curious.

Like stars of ice,

Chimes glistening in the night.

 

Fragile.

The possibilities ring pure.

Yet all melt away,

Till one light remains.

 

The light of ideas,

Of growth,

And of cultures.

To shine true.

 

We ask, “What is to become of tomorrow?”

We ask, “What is to become of us?”

We will never know.

We cannot know.

 

Because what is the use?

Of a clear future

That we cannot question,

That we cannot change.

 

What good is freedom

If it is not complete?

What good is life

If it is not lived?

 

What good is the future

If it is not ours?