Too many things already crowd my space
and more seem poised to slip around my guard
but no delay is what I want to pace
resolving peace of expectation scarred.

Too many words are clinging to my time
and more are waiting for their chance to shout
but silence yet is what I wish to chime
the unheard hours of self-inspiring doubt.

Too many hopes continue holding fast
and more await their chance to cling and cleave
but sad uncertainty is what I asked
unwilling to renounce all I believe.

The present is the only present safe
from was and will be maybes which may chafe.

- Robert Stone, 27 November 2011