and the tomorrow

will it be any different ?

a thousand year old
constellation crashing
down after a billion years of spring

will it be coherent ?

when the dust fades
and the smoke travels back
deep within,

will it be transparent ?

the sky and the moon
the sun and the monsoon
the love forever and the gloom

though it's only september
i can see another december
beyond the pines- behind the doom

blossoming, in love with the fall
as i sit and contemplate the dark,
that has engulfed this room,

the kid must die,
and the kid is dead

so kiss him good-bye
before he loses his head

put him to sleep
i know he wants to rest
and dream his life away.

the seed must unfold into
a forest, lest the barren tides
will sweep all away; in ways.


metamorphosis can happen
tomorrow, always.


so, let the kid die;
and the kid is dead.