Future is time’s third act, time still to come.
Only since time is of indefinite
Duration, we gape ahead, holds hands to
Eyes, to magnify or blind. This future
Can never know me. We’ll never meet. We
Never will, for when we do slithering
Time has become present, which is so now,
As to be utterly devoid of prism.
The past shapes things to its malignant will.
Its gnarled limbs covet, taking what’s not his.
Do we belong to time or time to us?
Between cold future and the ravenous past,
The present’s torn apart. It’s meek, so small.
In it there runs a silver stream of power.
The last assignment in Writing 201, the future / sonnet / chiasmus assignment. The featured image is “Young Girl Seated” by Amedeo Modigliani painted in 1918. The original can be found in the National Gallery of Art, Washington, D.C., U.S.A. All works by Modigliani (1884-1920) are in the public domain.