A time before there always is, a time
whose worse or better is not known until
with sorrows down or pleasures up we climb
our chosen destinies to sure fulfill.

A time of now there fleeting is, a blink
whose false or true interpretations wait
with grim despair or patient hope the brink
of less or more to come dealt out by fate.

A time to come there ever is, a chance
whose dull or shining opportunity
with gripping fear or grasping hope will dance
alike with unashamed impunity.

May log-jammed eyes be cleared of wrong desire
to then unsplinter eyes dividing sky.

- Robert Stone, 11 September 2011