Still Thinking by Daniel Stevenson
I, Like in a latter day,
think away my things.
Time ebbs on
because that is what it does.
With tears that surface-coat scars
that drive me more than they should,
I reach for a tomorrow
guaranteed
in the hand of the master,
But framed in the thinking,
too common
to yesterday’s reality.
Time ebbs on
ever-closer
to that unsealed future,
The image in the rear view mirror
is fading
but I lean in straining.
Service and tears
but even today’s events
seem distant.
I am without torment
but sometimes wondering why my scars,
drive me more than they should.
Thinking
through things
like in days past,
when my thought should
simply be
of one certain tomorrow…
The thoughts I think
may be of today.
The scars I bear,
some I thought forgotten,
drive a present
seemingly based
on an old life.
This new life,
it is somehow more real,
Eyes open,
I,
like Lot,
live vexed.
Moved
to certain action,
I work
though I wonder.
My help is eternal.
My pain is temporal.
One day,
I will
stop
thinking,
but apparently
not yet.
