Here I lie,
Parayzed in the gossamer web
Woven by the silvery spider
Called Yesterday,
A hapless victim of my own past.
I am suspended
The earth below and the sky above,
Somewhere between destinies ...

The web is sometimes stressed by
Breezes called Today,
But my limbs are paralyzed
By a pervasive lethargy,
Wrapped in a great lassitude
Of the spirit ...

It is useless
To beseech Yesterday for pity,
For Yesterday is ever
La Belle Dame Sans Merci ...

She will gracefully cast her spells
Wrapping her enchanted victims
Into her shimmering embrace,
Gently pierce the flesh,
Tenderly drain the life
Out of still another spirit ...

While I lie still in the web,
Awaiting whatever fate
I have surrendered to,
I feel a sudden breeze
Wash across me,
And I smell
Promises on the air,
Exotic aromas,
Promises of unknown lands
To be explored,
Promises of unknown sensations
To be felt,
Promises of unknown experiences
To be lived ...

Too much is out there,
Too much awaits me.
I cannot resist the
Powerful aroma of possibility.
Regretfully, I free myself
From the silken strands,
Leaving behind the certain fate
Of Yesterday.

I reach out and catch the wind,
Eagerly anticipating the unknown
Exuberantly riding into the
Golden light of the future.

September, 1992

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