Array ( [sid] => 184329 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => Tomorrow [time] => 2017-07-17 21:37:21 [hometext] => To be heard, to be known; to not walk alone. [bodytext] => The thunder and music of so many choices;
In languages uttered by billions of voices.
A speck in the crowd; an ocean of we;
Were a piece of a puzzle that weve yet to see.

It shifts and it drifts and it throws as us about,
Scared to be in it; more scared to get out.

Travelers all, thru the canyons and hollows;
By dirt roads or highways; were led or we follow;
Burning up lifetimes to find our content.
Layers of footprints betray our intent.

Cross legends and fables; tell stories of yore;
Gathering keys and opening doors.
Through rainshine and sundrops that dapple the shore;
Remembered, forgotten, or simply ignored.

Seeking our path; our rhyme and our reason;
In our own way, and each in our season.

While no one is watching; when no one is there;
While critics are busy attending affairs;
If we stop for a moment and peek through the door;
Wed find the seats empty, and no one kept score. [comments] => 3 [counter] => 248 [topic] => 21 [informant] => softerware [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => Lifepoems ) Your Poetry Dot Com - Tomorrow


Tomorrow
Date: Monday, 17th July 2017 @ 09:37:21 PM AEST
Topic: Sad Poetry

Contributed By: softerware
The thunder and music of so many choices;
In languages uttered by billions of voices.
A speck in the crowd; an ocean of we;
Were a piece of a puzzle that weve yet to see.

It shifts and it drifts and it throws as us about,
Scared to be in it; more scared to get out.

Travelers all, thru the canyons and hollows;
By dirt roads or highways; were led or we follow;
Burning up lifetimes to find our content.
Layers of footprints betray our intent.

Cross legends and fables; tell stories of yore;
Gathering keys and opening doors.
Through rainshine and sundrops that dapple the shore;
Remembered, forgotten, or simply ignored.

Seeking our path; our rhyme and our reason;
In our own way, and each in our season.

While no one is watching; when no one is there;
While critics are busy attending affairs;
If we stop for a moment and peek through the door;
Wed find the seats empty, and no one kept score.

This poem is Copyright © softerware


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