Future

I look forward and see in the uncertain, perhaps not inevitable time to come, a wide spanning period of sun; sparkling on those distant mornings, renewing life, causing one to breathe and to ponder the absence of time. Time being that vexing dragon that chips at spirit, that muffles mirth, suffocates and buries it. With that gone, all that's left is air. Soothing, shining.
These days might be the opposite of a puzzle, might frown upon riddles and tricks. They may quench the thirst for self-destruction. They may build a better bond with what is joy, with what is sound reason, pure and tangible. They may suffer the company of truly fanciful attempts to deny doubt its slivery grasp. And one may find a letter is a reason to rip wrong from its phantom prey. Yes, this day my view can picture, and humbly, I peer upon the present and clear my sights for some such time as this.