He sneaks out, past the cold eye which stares hard
at every inch of dead soil that rots under foot and moon,
with winged wishful feet. Rush to hope, stay locked in fear
of freedom. Away from his screams wrought by torture
nothing to push and tempt his depression far
enough that boiling seas will bleed out into
everyday of serene life. Tomorrow dies inside
each cold today, he breaks the self-made casket lid
because from now on his tomorrow comes today.
Run fast and farther past the future’s death to break
this idle curse. He sneaks by us and dares to live.

04/18/2003

Posted on 04/18/2003
Copyright © 2025 Ryan M Evon