We have no proper looking glass
that shows us clear
the future. . .

nor can our
naked eyes foresee,
nor minds fore-sew
the nature and direction
of stitches we make now
to forge the path,
a seamless seam
that smooths the edges of our past
and needles them
with finest thread
to form a suture,

to bind us fast
to what’s ahead
on murky roads
where we’ll delve down
to secret lodes,
and strike it rich–
in treasures and in pleasures
of the realm
most long and vast
we call our future.

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