I look up in to the heavens. . .
the thundering sky above look likeabout
its about to cry form its gray eyes. . .
The handsof time thinout as long asI am
alive
I swallow mymemories, in orderto keep
myself from feeling pain
Spillingout all mysorrows onto
thislifeless floor. . .
Cowering atthe thought oftomorrow
I amso a faraid, ofwhat tomorrow is. .
.
what will tomorrow bring? No use in
pondering
Timid and avoiding annoying douts that
keep me from moving on forword,
will only lead me in a circle
Worrying that everything might
fallapart. . .
Deep withinmy heart I know that
Only looking ahead,to the dayafter
tomorrow
Will notbring me ananswer -- I know
that
The futureis an emptycanvas that
moveson forward soendlessly. . .
Tomorrow is an empty canvas, full of
promise
White and spacious, what should I paint
on it
What shouldI sketch on it?
reality is overwhelming, dark and
daunting, the unknown haunting
Reality begins tostain the canvaswith
its darkest colors!
What shouldI draw?
Da-da dat - daa!
With thelimited amount oftime
What shallI draw?
What willI
draw onthe tomorrow thatspraeds infinitely, pure white?
Whatwill I drawon the tomorrow thatreality
stained pureblack?
true true
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