Here I lay
at morrow's feet,
begging for yesterday's grace
to fill me once more,
so I may face the dawn.

An hour might as well be a year,
A life, a night lacking sleep,
Something sweet but just outta reach,
Or song, one line, that one line,
With memories sweeter than ice cream,
And crescendo akin to broken mirrors.

Long gone, would be the “clickety-clack,”
The coming and going of a train;
Meaning to stop, but only to pass you by,
Offering the slightest dust, hints to where
You should have been come ‘morrow;
Left would be an only, lonely to posit –

Why can the gulls go when I can’t?

Under the bridge, a once again
Tranced by the rhythm of a river
Chaos culminated to calm strains
Crucified and paraded in clarity

A push and I pushed deeper to sink
Your eyes lighted with a remedy
A redemption of persisting ache
A depth tucked and hidden in a mast

Unclaimed and reared, purely untainted
An essence delivered by a spirited past
Cocoon to a parameter of perception
A scent delicately brewed in aged truce

Under a bridge in a moment called now
Blocks scented with nitrogen spurred *****
A depart from the swan hypnotic dreams
A renegade of mottos, hollows of morrows

everything else has room to grow
                                    so continue to run,
                                              gallop and walk
                                                         weave through
                                                               the something's
                                                                       and nothing's,
                                                                           aching for that
                                                                                better tomorrow

Even if the morrow
Is barren of promises
Nothing shall forestall my return
To become the dew
That clenches the land
To spare the sands
The seas and the sky
I offer thee this silent sacrifice