My eyes see and my mind knows, as I spot the future.

Here you go again. How long this time shall I wait?

A year or two, I no longer can afford.

My hands are wrinkled now.

They are not resilient as they once were.

Holding time still for you, while you laugh, is not feasible.

I can’t help but wondering your fate and mine.

Mothers bare weight for fifty years, but after that, it’s your turn.

Who holds us? God, of course, but time is allotted for moments.

Do you hear the wind whispering?

Listen. The breeze tells stories of others.

If you want, you can hear, you can know, if you so want.

Perhaps not? I smile, it’s okay. It always is “okay;”isn’t it?

Yes, you question me, I do see the future; after all, we’ve been here before.

All future fades holding every moment that ever was in a forgotten cloud.

And in time, we are a whispered past, in god’s book.

I hope he cares.