This Time Machine . . .

THIS TIME MACHINE . . .

       1.This Time Machine that I've invented mayTransport me backward beyond yesterday       In memory or in imagination;In fact, it only goes the other way.

       2.I woke this morning, in my head the phrase,"In no uncertain terms!" And in the haze       Of early sunlight wondered what it meant:Who offers what for years—weeks—days?

       3.Suppose there's one who piously affirmsAn aftermath to the uncertain terms       Of our lives, a sequela bypassingUnbroken darkness and the feast of worms;

       4.Imagining, beyond the final curtain,A future we are lively and alert in.       He cannot hear the little voice that whispers,"The only certainty is the uncertain."

       5.His pleasure here on earth is to ignoreThe pleasures that have been created for       Our enjoyment. Don't bother asking why:Perfection squeezes through a narrow door

       6.To which so very few of us are fittedBy character that we must be acquitted        Of our past lives, before, grudgingly,A few more than a few will be admitted

       7.Into this afterplace and there abideForever. Watch them effortlessly glide       Across Eternity's unmelting pond,Outdistancing the lives they've cast aside.

       8.That one percent gain entry, single file,Is a discovery that would beguile       Our predecessors in the vast extinction:Well might Tyrannosaurus crack a smile.

       9.And you and I would smile with him, since weCan't give to sheer impossibility       The total credence it demands from us.But if one cannot fudge divinity,

       10.It might be wiser to look for a gateCapacious enough to accommodate       The two of us, say, walking side by side:That other thing, if it exists, can wait.

       11.One who abstains lays up a great rewardIn heaven, though on earth he will be bored;       And questioned at the threshold by Saint Peter,Must answer, "I did nothing, nothing untoward."

       12."Untoward" may have been a proffered cup,Or invitation to sit down and sup       With one of the untowards, which was declined;Such are the losses cannot be made up.

       13.The constant discipline employed rehearsingHis death might just as well have been spent cursing        The life that he so ardently avoided,The failures there could be no reimbursing.

       14.You really have no reason to enquireWhen your uncertain contract will expire,       For just imagine your increasing dreadAs that red-letter day draws ever nigher.

       15.There is no way you can prepare for it,Nor any reason you should care—for it       Will be there for you at the proper time,While you, of course, will not be there for it.

       16.It will not happen in your lifetime, see?When, without knowing it, you cease to be,       No one will be there to answer, "Present!"In the presence of that singularity.

       17.But don't imagine you'll just skip awayWith nothing left undone, no more to say;       Your unaccomplished actions and unspokenWords constitute the debt you have to pay.

       18.It's what you owe for having lived on earth:A clock began its ticking at your birth       And keeps on till—well, you won't hear it stop.A blessing, that would be, for what it's worth.

       19.The shadows drawing near come to remindYou not of that one life you'll leave behind       (You will not leave it: it will go with you.)But of all those you sought and could not find.

       20.They gather round you in a sullen ring,Like relatives who won't get anything         their fond uncle's will: but even so,These unlived lives are worth examining.

       21.It seems that some remorse for things undoneMust sometimes trouble almost everyone,       Save those who couldn't possibly imagineLeaving unfinished something they've begun.

       22.But isn't doing something badly worse,An even greater engine of remorse?       To think of someone who can't think of youWithout a fit of anger or a curse!

       23.Or think of someone who can...