There's always tomorrow to,
Wake up and stretch lazy limbs,
Look into an old horizon,
Spreading waves of light,
From its center in the wall.

There's food there,
A chestnut knotted wood table,
Warm coffee resting on mats to comfort,
Slumber to awake to bread dough fragrances of baking and subtle sandlewood incense,
Natural light cascades over brown glistening table tops freezing the dust particles anxious to float.

Yesterday loves tomorrow,
There are no mistakes or misjudgements,
Only the pre-arranged utopia built from the hindsight of faults that illuminate our delusional could be,
Tomorrow is a fairy tale,
Lying to us,
Beckoning for escape like a fantasy.

Tomorrow is rebirth,
Spinning more minutes to drudge through,
Or maybe breakdown and alter course,
Maybe run untill my legs break,
Piercing the ground,
Raising my totem of paralysis,
Stuck untill tomorrow.

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