Matters From Ashes

I remember the future
It was nothing quite like it is right now
I was stuck in the the past tense, writing my history
Pausing as a person defined by now
I remember the future
It was held together by strength
Simply a mock up, merely a puppet
That could talk to my fear or whim
I was told not to sleep but rather to rethink my position
Why does purpose always point to conquest?
Motions always at rest and when moving
Everything turns liquid
A temporary sickness
I can make matters from ashes
I can sour the spoils
Biting on the skin from my own lip
And slowly recoil, I will slowly recoil
I was writing the preface
To the purpose of a future that will never exist
Groveling on all fours
Compelled to be preempted by a time I depict