Plenty more string

With each new rotation
Comes another future
Inevitable yet
Unpredictable.
For who dare explain the impossible to a bundle of blankets?
Or the unimaginable to a pair of grubby dungarees?
The world’s greatest men were once that,
No more than sticky fingers
With plenty more string to let out.
But what happens to that future
As the string shortens?
When every move drowns a thousand possibilities
And washes up a horizon of new opportunity?
Would it not be healthy to forget the future,
And pretend instead, that
Now
Is the only time worth living for?
With all the string in the world.