What Will Be Will Never Be Anything But

You’ve lived your whole life haunted
By the ghost of what to do
Next. Yes, you. You have. What’s next

Is never here, never real,
Is always rearrangement
Of memories in your head,

Like any ghost that haunts you.
What’s next’s just the hungriest
Vampire revenant ever

Pulling its bones together
From the graveyard of what’s been.
It’s not so bad. The graveyard

Itself is green and lovely
Much of the year—it’s your home,
All you’ve been, thus all you are—

But it’s haunted by what’s next,
Always asking you what’s next,
Until you want to bury your head

And forget. Don’t forget, yet.
You’ve never known a future
Wasn’t your ghoulish monster

Mind, the restless grave robber,
Assembling monsters of past,
Whispering, you be careful,

Look at these bones you’ll become
If you don’t pay attention!
And you believe it. You shake

In dread anticipation.
You must prepare for what’s next,
Every moment for what’s next,

Or you’ll end up grisly bones,
Like next’s cautionary ghost.
But you won’t. That ghost’s a ghost.