Scary, a little—
	That all we are
	Is made up
	Of what we were,
	Once, when
	What was
	Is now what isn't.
	What will be
	Is just as isn't.
	Or is it?
	How can a future
	That will be
	Not be?
	Who will we be
	When that unbeing
	Becomes, for a
	Moment, all
	There is?

12/16/05

© Fred O'Bryant. All rights reserved.

Previous Poem Return to poem list. Next Poem