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a poem or prayer reflecting on what we have and will – Tomorrow Never Comes to Those Who Are Waiting Expectantly

October 4, 2015


In The Key of C#

a poem or prayer reflecting on what we have and will


Tomorrow Never Comes to Those Who Are Waiting Expectantly


we cower moving stiffly through shadows dimly lighting the eerie stretches between openings and safe surrender

fearing always that we’ll be found out exposed for what we are trespassers 

bent down in recesses with a gesture praying never to be found

we hunker down pulling our tattered covers over our face to muffle our breath keeping tightly bound with emergency provisions for long  deepening dead silence 

every precious breath is a brush to awakening in the cold before emerging day

in the wee hours of pre-dawn we’re paralyzed by the urge to remain in our cocoon be drawn to stay a moment too long

our eyes are frozen shut our fingers taut within our sleeves and near our loins to protect them our feet like cement shuttered in like windows boarded up from a hurricane

there is nowhere to hide our solemn march repeated day and night to find a few hours of sublime rest and comfort from the piling hurt and aches that cave in our spirits we must resist the temptation to allow the pains of the lower back, the ears and tip of the nose the smallest fissure of heels that bleed that chafe that hurt with every turn

feet feel numb   banging hands to return circulation lessening the blows of wincing flinching in the sorrow of losses that pile up and groan no more no more perverse means to stay alive to feel to trample beneath the branches making a bed from whatever is found in the trash

we waken not certain whether we slept a minute of a day wondering whether we will ever retreat following a course homeward bound 

we stammer that we are able we are ready for whatever we meet on the road 

we recall better times and measures of kindness that restored our focus and place we deeply feel sorrow for our misery that we have no more to offer to the world but gasping aloud we utter that it is the best we can do and with that we turn and trample out among the travelingpassersby into the din of first light

full of gratitude that we have made it to the light unscathed.

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