Tomorrow

- jan-u-wine

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow,

I tell myself:
{tomorrow}
I will make a start.

And all the words that there are
lying so close
and dark

shall find their slow way
from pen to parchment,

fall

with no ease
and less grace

and press themselves,
just here....

guardians of,
witnesses to

a certain yesterday.

Tomorrow.

Yes, tomorrow.

Tomorrow
I will not be wearied
by the glimpsed-golden

eye of the Sun.....

tomorrow

the voices and words
that shout and sing

and whisper,
only to depart,
trailing echoes
like dead-twisted vines


will not war so very

loudly
with what must be those
of the real world.


Yet,

the tomorrows
have fled away,

days scattering like leaves before a wind,


faster.....

faster....

and
tomorrow

is

today.....

and,
then,

yes
ter
day

and

somehow I know
that tomorrow

is to me now

like it was when I was but a child:

only

a thought,

a
means

of stringing one moment to another,
of

threading a minute to an hour to a day.

Tomorrow.

Like today,
like

all the other days
which have flown

and are forgotten,

it will bow to me,
in passing,

it will sigh,
brush

my brow
with
time-tipped
fingers.

And I....

I will make a start,
try to hold the past

still'd
within the frame of the present,

distill it within resin'd memory.

But not
today.

Tomorrow.