Live for the future says the Optimist.
Live in case of the future says the Pessimist.
The hoary mist hangs idly on choices,
Wafted on the breeze like sheep's wool on barbed wire.
To be decisive when indifference becomes a bore; 
To direct randomness through one gilded doorway
While rejecting another whose paint itches and peels;
To select the berry which lodges no grub:
Here is the province of magistrates and infants,
One using ossified nouns, the other rashness and greed.
But there is too much ego and too much id,
Too much black and white for my grey indolence.
How much more like Nature to drift with tide and wind,
To swirl with the other dust and filth,
To find a personal place in that kaleidoscope
Among the crackling leaves and dry stones,
Skipping an honest freedom between society's stilletoed heels,
Ignorant of cycles slumping past in the gutter press.

Live for the past says the Reactionary.
Die for the future says the Revolutionary.
In a while we must present our mean lives to Death.
Must we then live a death in our present?
Listen for the call of an unborn heart
To penetrate the crimes of ages past.
Hear the impassioned prayer of one to come,
One who is many, and not yet to blame. 
Hark to the pleas of the seed of mankind:

Live until the future: none can say more.
Die only to end life, and gild another door.