NaPoWriMo #10: The Future

Everybody’s always pointing to it,
even Lenin. It’s a great big bunch
of time on our hands that will end
up digging our graves as well as
claim the winning ticket. It’s a fire
that will erupt as soon as we’re
finished sitting inertly in a chair,
trying to keep breath from igniting
by being slow enough to freeze.
Meanwhile, historians are busy
counting dying heroes and villains,
putting events in their chronicles
like dropping candied apples and pears
in a fruitcake. They know days
will run faster than they can follow,
that a book will never appear that carries
everything that happens, its text
speeding by instantly when the moment
changes. We all want to find out
when we can stop reading, occupy
a solid block of time that begins
and ends, the only milestone showing
we were here, numbers and names
chiseled into stone, another breadcrumb
in infinity’s walk through its maze.