Unsure, I gaze upon the wormhole Hope,
That puzzling portal perched on in-between
My concrete past, unchangeable in scope,
And future's fragile focus yet unseen.

Her fickle nature causing indecision,
I hesitate, to ponder on this quest.
If I but only had her sense of vision
This riddle wouldn't cause me such unrest.

I must confess that her alluring beauty,
Apparent substitute for common sense,
Has often caused a treachery of duty,
The father of the beggar's recompense.

But Hope may only dwell in our today,
Not in tomorrow, nor in yesterday.