How can hope become a way of life, A principle determining one's
ends, Putting what might be before what is, Postponing pleasure till the
sacrifice Yields the dream--contorted, yes, but
real? Granted, one might choose to live
one's life Removed from all pursuit of distant
ends, Avid for the ecstasy of is, Desiring neither change nor
sacrifice, Undone by the immediately
real. A moment cannot help but move one's life To serve by will or chance enduring
ends. In time one sees will be and was in
is, Opening one's heart to sacrifice, Needing larger nows to hold what's
real.
Copyright by Nicholas Gordon. Free for personal or non-commercial use.
