The crystal was perfectly aligned.
It exposed an image of the day I left seamlessly.
But it also echoed the future,
the design of tomorrow.
I wouldn’t follow my wildest dreams,
but I couldn’t say the misuse was improbable.
To the next phase in my elegant maneuver,
I gather the strength from my abysmal insides.
Wide open were the gates of hell.
I withheld.
Then continued,
as the outline of forever,
forever guided me.  
Time was traveled.
And as passing eras bettered my intellectual design,
I redefined the reality of Sir Hawkins.
Time travel.
So true.
My speed was increasing,
as was my very corpus.
And as it did,
so I transcended.
Amended  such as our legitimate antiquity
of the dickity desire.
The feeling of an outwordly choir
singing you to sleep while injecting you
with futuristic methyl-amphetamines.
I dreamt of better things,
but too late.
For I've descended into tomorrow,
and the decisions of the borrowed souls
will cease to follow.