tomorrow
The Myth of Tomorrow
We build our dreams on scaffolds high,
In shadowed spires that scrape the sky,
A better dawn, a gilded flame,
Forever just beyond a name.
We trade the breath that warms the now
For plans that Time will disallow.
We barter joy for schemes unmet,
Our tea goes cold, our eyes forget.
A better morrow, whispers Fate,
So hush your heart, be patient, wait.
Yet when it comes in morning’s gold,
We chase another tale we're told.
We stitch our days with the thread of when,
Then we unpick and start again.
The orchard blossoms in our chest,
But we march on, not taking rest.
We chase horizons made of glass,
Reflections in the future's mass,
Too blind to sip the wine we poured,
Too deaf to hear the hush, "You’re more."
Let us then, for once, be bold,
Unpack our laughter, break the mould.
Taste the fig, and feel the rain,
Kiss the sun, release the strain.
Not every dawn must rise with fire,
Not every hour must build the spire.
Sometimes the miracle is this:
A held hand, a breath, a bite, a kiss.
So let us lift our cups today,
And drink the dusk, and dance the clay,
For what is future, but delay,
When now is aching to simply stay.
