The real battle, actually has no views
Everyone startle; battlegrounds are no revues
It's hard to separate, when unseen or hidden
Battle of my thoughts, a fight within

I built a mansion, but I'm yet to move in
I built a jet for auction, but it's yet to move me
I'm a volcano, with no eruption
All end in the war within; ending in an option

To do it now, or some other time
Verb is no noun, i never made my action prime
The Battle is disastrous, it leaves my goals in shipwreck
Strolling now or later, I lose the ambitions in a cheap trek

Later is always the war victor, but it's grave
Never again will I take the tour; just doing it - is save
Tomorrow is another day, but it's a bait that annihilate
I will do it later; But I'm late now or I'm now late

- Pastorlee

Tomorrow held such promises
then the next day came
and broke all of them.

Now here
Nowhere

I’m not ok but maybe tomorrow I will be
Maybe tomorrow all will be forgotten
Or maybe it’ll all be stuffed back inside
Back inside the jar that just about too full to hold anymore
Maybe tomorrow I’ll put my own feelings first
Maybe tomorrow you’ll notice when I leave the room to cry so I don’t burden you
Or maybe you already know and tomorrow you’ll care
Maybe tomorrow I’ll wake up and not hate myself for once
Maybe if I loved myself you would to
Maybe tomorrow I won’t be sitting here writing this with a tear stained face while you sleep peacefully in the next room
Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to lay in bed with you without crying and just wishing you knew I wasn’t ok
Maybe tomorrow I’ll want to see another tomorrow for myself

The whispers of tomorrow
tainted the marble walls as
the ones in the room painted
different shades and visuals
of their tomorrow.

The one with their hand jittery,
spine made of anxiety
stutter with their fear coated tongue,
the bouncing and rebounding words of
the chaos and panic of the heart;
the thought of uncertainty that
tomorrow dawns upon them.

As the word tomorrow is passed
on like a parcel amongst the ones sitting
the one with their pupils radiant
paints yellow and white
the hope a new day brings upon,
whereas the ambitious shouts
that she is a day closer to her goals
as she stands armored with passion and dreams.

The students have tomorrow
tattooed on their tongue,
a word that never comes
but morphs itself into the word procrastination.

But when it comes to me,
the moon dissolves into the sun
and the sun dissolves into the moon
as my yesterday, today and tomorrow become the same;
the shades of my life are painted all the same.

happy or depressed
life is a balancing act
so easy to slip...
moods that fall can rise again
wait for tomorrow's new day