What the Future Brings

By George Freek

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As life diminishes
death is expected,
but I don’t think it brings
any happy reunions.
The dead disintegrate
like fruit from a tree,
or the riverbank’s trees,
when its leaves fall
like gymnasts,
dying gracefully.
I stare at dark clouds
as they conquer the stars
on a stormy night,
and I think of the future
and what it means,
and I quickly forget
all my empty philosophy.