The future is what passes before thine eyes.

From the break of day to the sun’s last ray

It jumps ahead.

Pen to pad, take out your ink

The day begins to shine.

Your future’s there, remaining there,

As long as you’re alive.

A creaking sound, of leather of old

A crumbling dust shows true

Placed back on the shelf, of collected wealth

The most treasured of them all.

Silence now, the empty house speaks volumes

No one is home, but the painted vase on the mantle.

On a house on a hill made of bricks

Worn by time.

My legacy lives on.

-Huffle