yesterdays like today
expecting what is to come
with the rising of the sun
like a Chinese whisper
passed through time and ancestry
the overall message
is muddied along the way

Maybe there will come a point
a turning point, swiveling on
the axis of my rotations
and I'll hear the whisper
barely audible small and infantile
and I will finally understand
until then the days are transcribed
into tally marks
etched out on the walls of life