It’s that time of night
Where it’s still today
But maybe it’s tomorrow.
Teetering between the present
And the future.
I’m often like that
Resistant to change,
Complacent in my old ways
But all too aware of the
Inevitability of what’s to come.
It’s the dull comfort of these chains
That keep me moored to the
Perpetual winter.
I am cursed with always knowing
But not wired for doing.
Perched upon this fence
The vista is thrilling and the scenery
enticing.
But sit I must and watch the parade
And clap to the oompah
Of a passing tuba.
Somewhere the sun is rising
I watch the clock
Tethered to yesterday
And not believing in tomorrow.