It is bizarre,

It is bizarre,

To expect something different

To happen tomorrow

But we do.

I guess it ensures we are all

Disappointed.

Some keep trying, others don’t,

It is a strange delusion

To keep waving the future

In front of our eyes

As a worthy goal,

It keeps our minds off the now

And then.

If you stop by in twenty minutes

I will be a different person

So will you,

It is a collision

Nothing stands still.

I look back and see

That yesterday was gone

Before it was ready to start.

Tomorrow is a soufflé

Waiting to be eaten

It is always best

Warm straight out of the oven.

Never leave it out in the rain,

It goes flat

Very quickly.

Everything dries

Brittle and paper-thin

There is never enough

To go around

And somebody always throws up

In the loo.

The stink in the air

Is the unfound,

Too many of us are

Left

Trying to choose a way

Forward.

Stumbling blocks

Remaining invisible

Afraid to be seen

For what we are.

Little children

Stuck inside an old husk

Waiting for rebirth

And a metamorphosis

That never happens.