Day 11: The Future

Today we had to write a poem about the future - like a state of the union address. I went with trying to define it instead...


Future

Future looms like giant's country,
a vague mist of maybes.

Shimmering truth, horizon line
ever-shifting: here, now, gone.
Mirage of moments 
awaiting enactment.
Future is fine, fancy, aloof.

A big blank -
or kaleidoscope of colour.
Somewhere 
over the rainbow. 

Future me imagines France;
a cottage with pink roses,
a typewriter, not unused,
books, charms, love, plans.
Future is fantasy fulfilled,
just a whim and wing away.

Le futur proche -
all those things
I was going to do...will do
if only, really, tomorrow and
tomorrow and tomorrow...

Future tense: a procrastinator's paradise.
A certainty clause, fix-all solution.
A tense promise.
An uncertain fact, face it. 
None of us
future-proof.

The future is a contradiction in terms.
Far off, it gallops forward
with every day lost.
The future never arrives.
The future is here.

Currency of thought,
repository of dreams.   

Lit fuse of possibility. 
Question mark. Exclamation point. 
Not prose with a predictable ending
but a poem
unwritten.

The future is written in stone;
the future is not yet written. 

The future never arrives.
The future is here.