Ghosts of Tomorrow

Ghosts of Tomorrow
By
EndtheDream

What then of tomorrow’s ghosts?
Before their hand prints hurt my
Heart?
I’ve looked over my shoulder far
Too much.
And missed for a long time the
Danger of a touch
That will happen,
Metaphorically probably,
And will hurt me
In the future.
There are no first aid kits
For this unsure ness,
Or this sureness.
If I can see them as already gone,
Even before they come along,
If I can breathe less deeply,
And believe less sleepily.
If I can get used to ghostly
Minutes and days and weeks from
Now.
If I don’t settle in the past,
Re-playing all the tears from the
Eye,
And tears of the soul.
Then will tomorrow hurt me worse
Than yesterday?
Could I live for the future?
There are many who say I should.
But there is the uncertainty.
But there really is more certainty
There.
The past replays.
I seek still.
The moment of guessing.
The silence of my words and my
Own game of tricks.
And theirs as well.
Pretending to link together,
In words,
And maybe a lover’s spell
Of passion.
But words are spelled the same
Way.
Yesterday
And
Today.
And humans have not changed
In all the eons.
If I could look for tomorrow
And not be surprised.
If I could put the past as
Pillow for tomorrow’s size
And scope of that so furtive
Delicate Dancing.
And see tomorrow as a sad
Friend,
Already gone away.
Then perhaps those future friends,
If there will be any,
Won’t disappoint me
When they don’t stay.
I’ll try tomorrow’s morning light.
I’ll try to past in its bright
Hue,
And keep it round me ghostly warm.
And put a hand to tomorrow’s eyes
With which I shall fall in love.
And say good-bye,
Making future yesterday’s
Smile.
And bring a circle closed
And maybe friendlier
In the lonelies.
At least I can try it.
In my own frenetic way.
And the psychics will predict
The past.
That has a shadow cast over it.
Which is the shadow of future
Past Tomorrows.
As it’s been,
I find now to say,
All along.