Future Jennifer MacLatchy Winter yields to spring; Night yields to morning; Crying yields to laughter; The Christ resurrected from the dead.         The future shall resemble the past. why can't he stay dead for once?         or at least for a little while? why must we hold up this hopeless hope? it is heavy and I am tired.         'The future shall resemble the past' is a non-empirical, foundational truth. To check for its truth would be circular. The dark sky stands firm. The winds hold their breath. Silence spreads gnarled, icy fingers through the air, paralyzing all, threatening to shatter catastrophically. Nothing dares move for fear of causing the whole dark sky to come crashing down. It is hard to know if time still flows, or if it has come to a stand-still -- frozen, like the silence. It is hard to know if and where I exist. Who will sit in this long, dark night with me, and not tell made-up stories of a fantastical, unknown dawn?         The future shall resemble the past. Will time start moving again,         and will it be sure enough to carry me in its flow,         into this future you speak of? Published in Out/Words #1 (view contents) Discuss this work in our Forum