Living to most seems
to be more about tomorrow
than the now-ness of things
about hopes to show
what's before the immediate eyes
broods discontent-- the scene
is murky and dismal like a shadow
of a long-drawn night--
where's the glitter and glow,
the path to discover and follow?

The mind is agitated
the heart does not know
human faces look alien
envy and suspicion beyond reason
how they cease never to grow
the person is an isolated island
dying a little as the day hours flow
pleading and supplicating
for a better tomorrow
to show.