Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-09-02 10:41:00

Tomorrow Morning, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow

Now is not the best time
for counting the ones you once loved;
When you're so close to leaving
that they become a tally,

Some inventory to be packed
and loaded and counted
into your memory
As you snap all the ties
which tether you to the places
where they grew

It's not a good time
for drinking heavily in the afternoon
When the house is empty
and you struggle to rouse from
that worn chair

So sit staring at the pictures
you took that summer
All the dead smiles
and the words you lost to time.

Then later, with her sick-bed
still in your throat,
plead "I'm a mess"
to your musty pillow.

Because you promised yourself
no more reaching out
at inhumane hours
at any hour
no more numbers tapped
into aching midnight,

reaching over stars and roofs
to people you once wished naked.

This is the time for a stable
heart
to rest the shifting mountains on.

This is the time, once again,
for buckle down
and keep it up
and strait-jacket-smiles.

This is you now,
this shadow
this shell of all the
things he'd hoped to be

when five years old,
thinking

This is not the time
for wishing.

This is not the time.