dark bedroom; whirring fan; waiting bed.
never knew this is how tomorrow came to be.

fresh air kept the smell of life moving;
plenty of time to be dead and smell;

but now, sleep falls on me, my
dreams are autumn leaves, nestling for
a place on the bottom of the pile

while my dog awaits a similar arrival. her tomorrow.
she slumbers on a pile of children's pajamas;

grandpas' writing poetry of grocery lists,
and school doors' to classrooms-locked, sleeping,
keeping all that knowledge safe til 'morn.

when tomorrow's door hinges squeak, 'awake,
awake, the future is here. the time is now.'

a hand-off from the yesterdays of all tomorrows.
being born naked, red, wrinkled, scared and crying
begins another future, days stacked like pancakes.

04/08/2011

Posted on 04/08/2011
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan