I
As often, my mind absconds.
But this time around,
It sneaks into a future
Where now and then
Switch positions;
Where all the plays and gays
Become of the olden days
Like an history written
Ahead of the few days to come.
Every day bears its own history.
Every morrow remains a mystery.
II
But what shall I say of the present,
When all is to be written
Against the mystery foreseen?
And the pages of history
Shall be flipped in retrospect. . .
Folding every fulfilled day
Into folds of the past
To unveil the mysteries
Of a disclosed future
Where my body hopes
To find my journeyed mind
In due time.
The mysteries the eyes behold Must they be kept from the world, untold? The visions of the night The trance in broad daylight Three things there are that are too great for me Three things from which My inferiority of knowledge doth flee! The depths of love The folly…
The history books will remember this noble fight. They will weave a stirring tale of stout hearts And tell of loud voices that dared to be harts When bastard bullets ruled both day and night. Shall we not tell our children's children this tale; Of how the Collar and the…
Woke up in the morningI looked at my wall clockSinging tic-tac...Time is indispensable, past, present for future.Time is history, subverted to mystery if not judiciously usedTime in the present presently is everythingTime as the past will be regretted if not utilizedTime decides what the future holdsTime in future is hopeTime…
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