Moments tend to pass without us taking much notice,
-woshing past, giving off one last beautiful farewell call.
And by the time we can comprehend,
yet another has passed on its way,
never to return, gone to the grassy beyond.

The beyond we all try to cling to,
with the utmost instinctive grip.
One finger clenched onto last vaporous past
and the other tethered on the present pole.

We hover, suspended in fog,
of what will become of tomorrow.
Though we all know tomorrow, will
eventually become today

Sebastian Sandok

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/cassiopea/