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Mosquito Wings
Looking through the same empty drawers,
rummaging for an escape
as if the answers would somehow surface
from nothing
to dress my blank face.
Oh, with yesterday
came the hope for tomorrow
because today is always trapped
in the middle.
But such is the case:
perspective shifts with time
and one moment is merely
retrospect for the next.
As we flap
mosquito-like wings
to the fleeting beat
of the maddeningly finite.
That second stanza really hit home. It's something I thought about recently - how I live in tomorrows and yesterdays, never today.
But the piece as a whole is quite AP-worthy.