The future is strange is it not?
All our hopes and dreams
Aspirations sewn at the seams
Of a dwindling reality.
Everything is possible,
I suppose.
And if we concentrate just so,
We too can take a glimpse of the show
That lies behind drawn curtains.

Nothing is certain
This I think I know.
Yet at times we feel the ebb and flow
Of futures yet to pass.
Not to be divined from entrails
Of a broken looking glass.
Mirrors have their uses
To show what others see,
But no great revelations
Of what will come to be.

Have our minds been made,
Long before ourselves?
Are we cartesian nightmares
Unto which we delve?
Is our image of ourselves
As foolish as I think?
And what becomes of the world
In the instance that we blink.

Have these words been uttered
By anothers tongue.
Under the guise of destiny
A pointless race to run.
Thoughts implanted,
Minds enchanted
By the most temporal of enemies.
Throttle the future with me now
As we fight the tides of entropy.