Future

What might the future hold for the man who carves himself from the inner depths of being?

What might the future hold for the man who carves himself from the inner depths of being?

Is there no end to his becoming?

No place to rest weary head?

He is but a man seeking the meaning looking ever forward….or is he running?

Running from what?

Who?

Where?

The future a never defined place. The destination as tangible as morning dew. Like thick fog over San Fran Bay.

It lingers even late into the day. Our present.

To present our ideal

Our misshapen, perception of ourselves. The future.

How might you be bound? Tamed and cajoled into this perceived sculpting of self. What might future reveal to the man who is worn by the winds of life?

A standing monument to the beauty of the weathering of this thing we call the future.