Dully, the dewy eyes make their way towards a bed
And not, before something should be said:
The cure seems to be tomorrow.
The panacea for all death, lethargy and sorrow
Is tomorrow, which washes over us
A wave, the new day, fresh salt and water
And anything sad and onerous
Goes away, or at least can be approached by the daughter
Of today’s dying mother cell, and all hope lies
In the next day, because if not now, then mañana, demain, zavtra
Therein lies the happy ever after, after
After today, as the loom of life keeps on weaving
And the thread of life keeps on beading
And the sighs of life keep on leaving
And the tides of life keep on receding
And washing in again upon the shore
Washing my beached body evermore
Until I choose to stand up as I may
Stand, rise, up and seize the day –

By Jove, how am I so bare, so salted, so lost?
“Day one, or one day, you decide”
Oh prefect of 2017, where am I to hide
From your words? Where am I to hide from a host
Of other words, phrases, calling me out on “laissez-faire”?
The tide will wash over and over
The tide will erode the cliffs of Dover
The tide will erode me with time and lack of care
Because the rhythm cares not,
Though it bares us on
The music won’t stop,
As we dance as one
The machine keeps grinding
The barons keep minding
The hurdy-gurdy keeps winding
And Time keeps binding
And the poet keeps writing
And keeps writing, and biting
Her nib
And her lip
And thinking this sounded better in my mind
Than put down to pages unlined, undefined
Nothing can be defined, only compared
There is no pen that can know,
No knowledge that may be shared
Only pondering
Wondering
Musing, when the muse gives
When one feels one lives
When one feels, one lives
When one reels, one gives
When the world keeps reeling
And I keep feeling
And this page is keeling
And your eyes are peeling
But I did not come to write horror –
I wanted to give hope for tomorrow,
Which will surely come, but, audi vocem meam
Te imploro: *** venit, carpe diem.