Future’s Tense

In my temporal capsule of cold gray darkness, I preserve the past but idolize Future. 

I call to it and what comes-forth is the sweet echoings of spring.

For far far away, through life’s haze,

I can still see the dreams that time hence made masquerade.

Like the faults of contents shifting by, I fear the slipping of time.


However, time has already passed Future’s tense.

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