Afterwards

I have always engaged myself into deep thought (I'm sure I'm not the only one in this world) which is probably one of the many causes of my insomnia. Thought about everything- the past, the future but not the present which is ridiculous. We tend to worry about or look forward to the future or reminisce about the past instead of cherishing the present. And before you know it, the present becomes the past, the future becomes the present. When things go wrong we wish we could turn back time and make amends and when things went well we wish we could relive those moments. We are only left with hopes and regrets as we get older. And the hope that we are not forgotten when we're gone.

Afterwards by Thomas Hardy

When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
And the May month flaps its glad green leaves like wings,
Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
"He was a man who used to notice such things"?

If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid's soundless blink,
The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
"To him this must have been a familiar sight."

If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
One may say, "He strove that such innocent creatures should
come to no harm,
But he could do little for them; and now he is gone."

If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at
the door,
Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
"He was one who had an eye for such mysteries"?

And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
Till they rise again, as they were a new bell's boom,
"He hears it not now, but used to notice such things?"