All The Things I’d Planned To Do

I had a moment–well, more than a few–

to look back on all the things I’d planned to do.

Oh, the itinerary was going to be insane:

London by rail, Cannes by plane.

But then disease arrived, escorted by dread,

and laid the best-laid plans to rest instead.

Now as the weeks have passed,

I have, at last,

calculated a small but thoughtful sum

of all the things I’ve actually done.

I’ve reached back out to friends I’d known

whose once well-worn paths had become overgrown,

and sat for a quiet, nostalgic moment on the phone,

and talked and listened.

I paused and let an empty space

of quiet contemplation grace

the once busy bustle of work’s daily pace

and let silence take its rightful place

as dawn approached and glistened.

I gave a careful and considered review

of all the things I thought I had to do:

once so important and now so small,

if not accomplished…oh, the sky would fall!

But it did not, I’m now aware.

And going forward, I thought, chin resting in my hand,

After This, what then? What was The Plan?

The future, once so certain-seeming

wondered like a child, day-dreaming.

And did not answer, or even care.

For we are not the mighty gods we think

who conquer and boast and toast and drink;

we are but lost and passing ghosts

who prosper or perish at the pleasure of our Host,

and as triumph and disaster around us dance

we pretend to control what is more often chance,

as we seldom if ever seem to get around to

all the things we’d planned to do.

  • BGT








8 thoughts on “All The Things I’d Planned To Do

  1. Thanks for this, Byron. You’ve poetically captured what so many of us are thinking and feeling these days.

  2. I work in the so-called “experience economy” and my business blew up in March. A lot of value was destroyed in a few weeks. Since then, I’ve reimagined my business model and I’m excited about the road ahead.

  3. According to Plato, poets are unfit for statesmanship. Indeed, even Plato can sometimes get it wrong. As history teaches, quite a few successful statesmen were poets. The combination isn’t surprising. One would expect a statesman to be well-read, have an elegance of expression and be able to connect with people’s feelings.

    Well-written, Byron.

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