No one claims this is future in history
Well, not even the prophets say such a thing
But I am contradictory, I affirm it.

Nothing authorizes me to be or denies
My civil right to claim
Prophet even if the world turns its back.

And if I surely proclaim to the present
Still with the same splinter countenance,
Hybrid, foolish in the morning, they are amazed.

The present was a future with no where,
Without exact descriptions, without lights
Or similar to the past, vague light.

One says the present and is gone
To nowhere for now visible,
Visitable or even play.

The present is the hope of yesterdays
That are still time, something else
More fatal is to proclaim another breath.

Getting discouraged from the trip to Utopia
It is not enough and it is not enough to do it.
The existence of prophets is terrifying.

Future is this overflowing dump
Of ideas, dreams and hope, without room.
Being alive is future more true?