Tomorrow...five hundred generations since the ice
Ten thousand years
Language recrystallizing yet again
Like music over spoken words over TV over the phone on a plane
Chaos shaded from above and shaped from below
By a world where quiet must be arranged at the expense of fuel.
Everywhere others are coming
Some who say they have been here before
Layers upon layers, cycles yellow white and brown
Layers of earth and air and water
And people leaving masks
Connecting remember when and tomorrow...the Twenty-first century.
Indeed, the past and future seem warp and weft of one tapestry, namely time, making the past a perfect playground for the science fiction mind... or anyone concerned with making sense of time.
Consider OZYMANDIAS by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822):
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: "Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on those lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed;
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.