Augustine
Tomorrow’s today and Today’s a game, whilst she continues the Skirmish, playing fields, the only veteran, Bent on a tear I’d never offer. I try to lick wounds, But find an even greater solace In ignorance;
So a day’s –
Having no god, though I’d still pray and I’d pray And I’d pray for the man on the other End of her newer gaze, The end at her end still aimed at me, A demise born genie’s wish; But I couldn’t, wouldn’t and sweltered.
Another day’s –
Napkins labeled revenge and a Tablecloth tattered perdition; She’d win, as we both knew she would When I’d only await the ruffled sheets of One, come morning, and by that, by then, By only and lack of, “tether,” would I Know – I’d emerge.
Yesterday, once more or never before –
As the skies still have a possibility for clear And yesterday’s tribulation would be just that – For apathy, for drink, for what I’d always known, For tomorrow. And I’d emerge, she’d erupt, I’d laugh and finally deserve the rest sought so long.
- H.H. (2013)
