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Poems On / About FUTURE  4/25/2015 9:47:14 PM
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The Apocrypha Of William O'shaunessy: Book Iii, I

In the feast laid out at Alcibiades’ house Terpander posed for us the question, “Why is it that time flows backwards?” Discussion continued on this topic for a while till the much-travelled Timon broadened our understanding with his sketch of the Menandroi, a people who live in a region of India that is constantly being invaded by the future.
“The Menandroi see clearly the past and the future but have great difficulty perceiving or understanding the present. To them a deep mist coils itself around where they are and the present is a core of blackness that travels everywhere with them. They spend much time writing letters to people dwelling in the remote past or a long way off. No sooner is one such letter written than they are busy writing another. Now they live on high platforms raised above the ground to discourage people from visiting them, but equally these platforms serve as convenient resting places for the highly trained pigeons that transmit their messages. From time to time it happens that those who receive their letters make the mistake of visiting them, for the Menandroi cannot perceive anyone who is present, but always fix their attention on elsewhere. In this tribe women conceive with great difficulty and rapidly lose all interest in their offspring. Accordingly it falls to the elderly and grandparents to protect children. For some reason it is only towards old age that the notion of the present dawns within the Menandroi. Sadly, as it has been said, for them the words ‘now’ and ‘here’ fuse into the word ‘nowhere’.
“The Pravati, on the other hand, live entirely in the present, asserting that anything more than five minutes into the past or future has no reality. Likewise they claim that reality only extends as far as a man can throw a not too heavy stone. In their estimation beyond that distance things turn to water – or rather, so they claim, language ceases to be applicable as all elements merge into a soupy texture they call ‘that’.”
Socrates said, “It seems, then, if we dwell only in the past and future we lose reality, while if we dwell only in the present we lose understanding and soon become a shadow. Likewise with what is here and what is distant. Must we, then, spread ourselves like some thin paste so we grasp and clutch tightly at all times the distant, the present and the approaching? Must we be always pouring back and forth the luminosity of now, the diverse hints of then and the steady light of what will be tomorrow? But how can ‘here’ and ‘now’ be always different things, never the same for two people? If we had a house like that or a tree or a loaf of bread, what good would it do anyone?”
Proteon, a pupil of the illustrious Zeno, who was visiting at the time, said, “Both are illusions – that is all.”
But sitting in the corner all the while was Zamindar, the one sent as a deputy to Athens by the fire dwellers from beyond the Indus. Now he had resurrected sky books from the deep wells where they were hidden and knew how to read what stones say and in his childhood, transfigured by the beauty that lies beyond speech, he had understood the difficult prediction poems spoken by birds. He began then, as if the room was strangely empty, his voice reaching us with the softness of someone very close and very far:
“Where I was born, in the infinite dimensions that blended in my village, lived both those ignorant of the present, obsessed with tomorrow and yesterday, and those who could perceive nothing beyond themselves and the narrow corner of light that fell directly on them. After watching them for many days I realised they were identical. Since then I have travelled much. The high platforms rented by those obsessed by what was and what approaches will all be reclaimed every two years as another fashion obliterates them. The dwellers in only now die out, incapable of sustaining their voice. Yet the not-altogether absent or present, those who travel between places, are real. ‘Here’ and ‘now’, ‘past’ and ‘present’ are real – it is the gathering that makes them real. They are real because we are not one being but many beings.”

(from Xenophon, Conversations from the last years of Socrates)
Peter Boyle

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Keeper Of The Ancient Doors

Thou Keeper of the ancient doors
Thou Angel of the deep in the light
Thou Spirit in the seers of the times of yore
Thou that keeps the secrets of the distant future
Thou that preserves the history of the ancient past
Grant thou me entrance through thy door
That I may see into the future with thee
For unto the prince of darkness the world shall turn
Save thou grant the son of light the future’s light

Unstop my ears to the whispers from the future
Enlighten my eyes to behold the things that shall be
Grant thou me the spirit of the future today
That I might ride on his wings to times yet unborn
Let me soar on the wings of the eagle from the future
That I may see beyond the now and the near
For unto thee the future is as history in the open
And before thy eyes is nothing ever concealed at-all
Quicken my discernment in line with thine
That I may discern the way thou doesth
Move my heart beyond the things of now
That my passions may be for things unseen

Come unto me oh Spirit of the ancient seers
Come now unto me thou companion of the seers of light
Spirits of my kinds that treaded these realms before me
Grant unto me thine eyes to see beyond the times of now
And spare thou me thy ears to hear from the future
Say unto me the mysteries that are hidden
Open unto me the choices of men yet unmade

Thou that knowest tomorrow teach thou me
Thou that seeesth tomorrow show thou me
Beyond the quest for the things of now
I crave to see the things to come
As my destiny and inheritance in the light

Thou that came upon Daniel here am I for thee
Thou that came upon John descend now on me
Thou Spirit that was on Patmos be my guide today
Possess thou me, Spirit of the seers in the light
Open am I unto all thy visions
And unto thy voice I yield this day
Grant thou me the pass to the future thou seeth
Thou Keeper of the ancient doors

-Samson Ajilore 25: 06: ’11,1pm FCT
Samson Ajilore

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In Future Times

In future times there will not be war like people aggressive people will be of the past
the glorification of war which has gone on for centuries is something that is not destined to last
The peaceful people they will be the rulers and there will be a time of World harmony
Of the dark energy of those who divide and conquer some future generation will live free,
This war of us and they won't last forever for everything does have it's use by date
There will come a time in the not distant future when war men we will not celebrate
When only those for peace will be elected into the important possessions of power
And the rose of peace all but dead and forgotten will bloom again as the World's most lovely flower,
'The enemy' that is a well worn cliche that war men to the opposites apply
They sully the nice word of patriotism when their humanity of those who oppose them they deny
Time is running out for the war loving people they had their innings 'twould be fair to say
They had their chance to make the World a safer place to live in a chance that they seemed glad to throw away
But in future times there will not be war like people for those for peace will have the final say
As they are the people destined to be rulers and the rose of peace will bloom again one day.
Francis Duggan

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Mind That Counts

Is the earth still on the anchor of nature?
Does what makes a whole still makes parts?
thus says the sluggard
accomplishing no future dipicting success.

Time sprinting like a gazzle
In the eyes of that glutt...
just a risk of a moment
costing Him years.

Acheing to the call of time...
dancing to the tune of just...
striving towards the glare of freedom
raring to go for gold.

Your future is a member of the allegibly accursed criminal of time...
Your future is dipicted by the perciverance of making it in life...
so your acclimitisation towards success vindicates your future...
isaac taiwo afuye

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