A poem from our creative writing class!
Sometimes I think of how
in the future
I may look back upon myself.
And other times I do just that;
look back upon myself,
perhaps to the time when I was thinking
of doing that which I am doing now.
The future and past are deeply confusing to me.
They're as different as night and day,
but does that make them,
different though they may be,
similar as two things can be?
And then there's the present,
always there but never really.
I mean, when is the present?
If you can divide a second,
"now" seems too long to say.
I say "now" but by then it's the past, the future already now,
and now a distant memory.