Carving Out Tomorrow

 

We speak of dreams in gentle light,
“I want to change, I might, I might.”
But misty words that drift and sway
Will never see the light of day.

 

Say, “Tomorrow at seven, I will run,
For twenty minutes, it will be done.”
When time and place are firmly drawn,
A future stirs to meet the dawn.

 

Do you report what life has been,
Or carve the path you’re walking in?
“I want to” keeps the safe delay,
“I will” puts trembling fear in play.

 

He circles gyms he “could” explore,
Research and ask and nothing more.
Maybe this or maybe that,
Commitment waits, yet he just chats.

 

The fog is soft, the fog is kind,
It soothes the edges of the mind.
It grants the glow of noble aim
Without the risk of loss or shame.

 

Do you report what life has been,
Or carve the path you’re walking in?
“I want to” keeps the safe delay,
“I will” puts trembling fear in play.

 

You say you want, as if that proves
Your virtue while no action moves.
Desire alone gives no foothold
Your hoped-for future gathers mold.

 

Yet words can cut through doubt and stall,
A stated hour, a chosen call.
When speech steps out of maybe’s thrill,
The world will shift to your “I will.”