Love poem, fantasy and imagination.
YOUR TIME MACHINE
Our fantasies are two candles. No, they are not going to quench. Our dreams are becoming thinner as our century is laughing at them. Your time machine has a train on the silver rails on our way. Sir, this is Victorian London. I won’t hesitate to say. A horse-driven carriage is running with the light of our candles’ rays. Is this Piccadilly Street which noticed our slow steps? Your time machine is a miracle made of our dreams’ jade. Is this Victorian London? Our dreams have never been caged. Your time machine is a miracle, sir. I won’t hesitate to say. A horse-driven carriage is running with our century’s legs.