Skip to main content

The Time Machine

As I face the small time machine
And the wires cuddling each other
Like sinners in love, I find my answer.
'Go back and save yourself', they say;
'Go back and this time get your girl'
'You can undo your bicycle accident'
'Why don't you edit your career now?'
'You can correct every error you've ever made'
'You now know what you shouldn't have done'
'Why don't you stop yourself from going
To that coffee shop on the 18th of May?'
'Go back and post that letter a little earlier'
'Don't forget to slap that sick professor'
'Go back and tell your friend the truth
About her husband, without any fear'

They all want me to erase
All the wrong footprints on
The sands of time, and they want
To have a better life,
A corrected, proofread life,
Using my little machine;
But will I be the same person
Once my mistakes get undone?

I press the key, turn the dial
And find myself before a child
Busy with his puzzle.
I know where his mother is now.
I place the last piece of his puzzle
And watch his surprise, in surprise.
He looks more like me
Than the faker in the mirrors now;
I find myself in his young eyes
That houses the soul I have lost
In the hurricanes of life and time;
My soul looks back and smiles
Showing me how ephemeral
Childhood truly is,
And how well I have grown;
In his askance gaze I find
My answer, and I sigh.
'This is what happiness looks like'
I whisper, and before leaving
I show him
Where his mother hides his cookies.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Song Of Richard Brown

Watching the palette, spoke a bemused Richard Brown "Must I pour bright red all over your gown ? Make a soporific colour for your half closed eyes With thick oil and paints to blend your lies. Just above your temples a scintilla of violet And your cheeks below dry, no, maybe a little wet; The tranquil shade of the smile on your lips Hiding behind your nonchalant golden hair wisps..." The brushes of Richard Brown danced along And the cerulean composition became a song He watched beauty carve out of creative stains And from terra incognita came rushing his pains Washing his brush, said he in a voice weak : "Elizabeth, there's a promise you failed to keep. For now, you are looking into my eyes, straight A thousand years is perhaps a long wait In this picture shall I watch your eyes Never losing those dreams over the endless skies Look, your lips are red, brighter than the rose The song's been written, the diary's 'bout to close..." Standing up, Richard...
Post a Comment
Read more

Questions

Will there be a voice Crawling, behind all the echoes? Will there be one warm finger In the bunch of cold hands? Will there be a green leaf On the weary and naked tree? Will there be a battle Of fears against hope, Behind every mother's prayer? Will there be answers In plain sight down the road? Will there be masks That are better than the souls? Will there be a rainbow With seven distinct colours And no hesitation? There will be all; all of this; If you water your thoughts In the bright sun, And keep a story, that begins After the final full-stop.
Post a Comment
Read more