Little droplets on the spider's web

yesterday is a history which is bound in the past,

often it leads to a future you think might last.

Unfortunately, there are times,

being undefined,

leaps into a whole new page unknown.

ever-changing and never ceasing, the

world is always spinning.

maybe we see too clearly the line

ever shining so brightly

or rather it could be

faint and unassuming

forever seeming amusing

the truth, however may just be that

on the line where we walk so tight

trees trembling in their might

and the line might not be real

lines are imaginary tracks on rail

knowing where the line is as

though knowing where the birds will fly

only be living out the lines of fate

you will know the path to your gate

on to the path where your future waits

understanding usually comes too late.

rough and unkempt this poem may be,

every heart into which it sees,

x-rays which bring forth shouts of glee.