As I get older, I don’t find myself looking forward to the future. I want more to connect to the ancients of my ancestry.
I am disappointed that at least in my dreams, I cannot return to live with those extinct.
Even though the future has the lives of my children that my soul bleeds for, I want the past for them too. I want them connect to what’s real, as increasingly I am becoming detached from the illusion of the future.
As bright as the paint is of the optimists as I see, and loud as their voices I hear, I see straight through their lack of conviction and understand the need for them to play the salesmen of future, to sell the unseen to the world, ironically, they prattle this and with the same breath proclaim their is no God, but I still trust my predecessors more as their colours are the colours of the earth, grounded and solid, a sure thing.