Tuesday, March 22, 2016

Time machine

It’s simple, really:
open the door of the booth,
sit, strap myself in,
set the dial to whatever
year I wish, and travel,
backward or forward,
or backward and forward,
a real Dr. Who,
or a Dr. Whatever.

I consider.

For now,
the only time machine
I have going backward
is memory;
the only time machine
I have going forward
is hope.

It’s likely, I think,
that my memory surpasses
reality, a rose-colored
filter simultaneously
enhancing and obscuring.

And do I replace hope
with reality or its shadow,
like Scrooge who saw
the reality and choose

I consider the door
once again, the temptation
of the tree, and before
I walk away I padlock it
with a lock I cannot open.

Memory and hope will suffice.

Tweetspeak Poetry has a poetry prompt this week about time machines. Consider your own personal Tardis – or note – and visit the site to see what others are thinking.

Photography by Rostislav Kralik via Public Domain Pictures. Used with permission.

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