In this Time Machine














In this time machine,
I only let
two hands
define
who I am.



The long
hauls my struggles,
failures and defeats,
to which
I do contemplate
and sometimes cry–
but only for a moment;
For I don’t dwell
on sorrows.



The short
enraptures joy,
fulfillment and dreams,
to where
I focus
my energy
and the best of me;
for happiness is achieved
when I cherish
what are in hands
and when I hope
for the goods
that are yet to come.



But
no matter
how the long
seems always ahead
of short;
no matter
how they’re going
in a never-ending circle,
and relentless
in catching
one another,
I am
hanging on;



. . . For I know,
they’re always working
for that brand new day
I so, so,
so love
called tomorrow.












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