Here is a poem about the future, with two competing views; one anchored in both antiquity and eternity, multigenerational — the long view; versus another, characterized by the 30-second ad, 24-hour news cycle, and quarterly earnings reports — the short view. Hope abides and sneaks up on us with creative outbursts, even in the face of short-sighted, self-destructive weighs.
The Future, The Passed
He abode
So far
Into the future
To fix your eye
On him
Would peer
Only as a might
A mote uncrossed
Not worth won’s tension
And to boot
Far in arrears
He wrested
Rooted in times so ancient
What ever
Turn a bout
Would halve a mind to mete
Olden daze
Cleaving the novel
Awe weighs losing out
To a 30-second add
That curser-y lessen
Of the quick and the dead
That witch will
Last
In efface of that unquenchable first
