Trying to write about the future
Is almost impossible without the past
Intruding talking about yesteryear.
Perhaps the future is like a thousand
Mirror reflecting itself endlessly.
I know there will be wars it is our burden
The opposite coin of love.
There is no vista opening-up
A panorama of beauty, but there will
Be moments when the glam of war stills,
When sea and sky meet in an embrace
Of utter tranquillity, and for a second
We think life is worth living.