The Future Remembered Poem by Dave SmithWhite

When I say, I remember the future,
As a play of imaginary cast;
I'll tailor and dress it to suit ya,
With the latest full cloth from the past.
When I say, it would give you some pleasure,
In this artless display of my heart;
I'll lay out the map to it's treasure,
And plot, my decline, on the chart.

When I say, I'll remember the present,
As a gift wrapped up as a task;
Do you think I've the soul of a peasant,
To grovel as low as you ask?
When I say, I remember the future,
It's in case it don't come to pass;
The poisons that rupture the suture,
Held together, by hope, in a glass.

There's talk of the fugitive future,
That we stalk like a snake in the grass.
Or walk with belief in a culture,
That many would see as a farce.
This talk, by reason, is flimsy,
All fluster and bluster aghast;
What cork can bottle up whimsy,
Till pressures, and fissures, and blast?

When I say, I remember the future,
It's a conceit that unveils the mask;
The fear that someone will shoot ya,
To make their name as true morons and bask,
In whatever reflected glory,
A murder engenders or sparks;
While the press will render the story,
Like the shills, they are, to the marks.

When I say, I remember the future,
Not in time, but more by it's arc;
To predict it's temper to root ya,
To a spot that's not dismal nor dark.
When I say, I remember the future,
My colors are nailed to the mast;
For the embers of truth must be nurtured,
Held close, at the breast, to the last.