|
tomorrow or the next
by Charlie Morganthese days crumble along, akin to an ostrich with a hood.
walking, running into things of substance, of hardness.
soon i'll be so old it won't matter, soon i won't know
one day from the next, or that the days end in letter Y.
so too will the days no longer know me, a halloween haunt
carrying only the wind in my makeshift sheets of scare.
little kids will look, wonder, come to the conclusion
that i'm an old man. harmless, hopeless, worthless.
who will want me then when i can be of no help to them;
no help to anyone except the earth for food and form.
but for now i'll grin and bear it, hate it, love it;
and when that day comes i won't know it or feel it.
i can hope. hope that it's not tomorrow, or the next day;
or the next day, or the next, or the next, or the next. 10/19/2008 Posted on 10/19/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan
| Member Comments on this Poem |
| Posted by George Hoerner on 10/20/08 at 12:13 AM Ah Charlie, you'll never catch me lad. My clock runs to fast as has my life. But good write all the same. The man with the scythe tried to catch me a couple years but I ran too fast. My legs may not move well but mind still functions in flashes. At least I think it does. Or was that lightening? |
| Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 10/20/08 at 04:15 AM Beautiful. Especially in that last stanza. |
| Posted by Nanette Bellman on 10/20/08 at 10:25 PM tomorrow never comes charlie...for when it does, it's today. that should keep you hoping. |
|
