Future Past


Washed up on some distant shore,
Memory of what came before.
Beach of crystal fibres gleaming,
Fabricated child stooping, feeling,
Collects a trinket, battered, grazed.
With passing thought light is raised.
Held to air, what could it be, do?
Imperfect circle, gold of hue.
Not made for him, not meant for all,
Unique prize for a museum hall.
No use to the hive, defective.
What should he do? Reflective.
But, before thrown back to ocean,
Electric eyes behold encryption,
‘My darling wife. Yours for eternity.’
Processors whir, child’s new reality.
And, for the first time in aeons,
Someone believes, eyes like neons.
And water, not oil, drops to the floor.
A child shall dream this day, once more.

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