The Future

Just beyond the fingertips
Suspended in time
The future hangs
Like fruit ripe for picking
You can almost taste it
The sweetness of the first bite
The trickle of succulence on your chin
Quickly caught by the back of your hand
You imagine the goodness
And experience the freshness
Even before you pick it off the branch
This is the joy of the dream
The anticipation of the sumptuous
The gift of the present
Is its movement toward the future
And the hope of the divine

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