Sometimes I think
That the future
Is made of sand.
When the wind blows
The horizon shifts
And everything we see
Changes.
We’d like to think
Our spirits are fiery enough
To burn the future
Into ridges of glass
Frozen and as comprehensible
As Braille read by schoolchildren
But that’s exactly when
The wind shifts again.
When you learn to ride
That sand, that glorious sand,
Like water
Reading the future
Will be as effortless
As breathing.
D.H. Lee
(via Swanksalot)