Fettered in forethought,

I await the inevitable, yet unapproaching.

As the present rolls past

my fixated gaze,

I’m conscious

only of a looming uncertainty

of what lies ahead.

The future occurs first,

then finds itself in the frame

of the present,

rolls past

my fixated gaze,

slipping into that unreachable place:

the past.

My fixated gaze,

my tether,

my bind:

as the present rolls past it,

I’m helplessly blind.

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