Posted in Life, Poetry

Bridge to Tomorrow

Men dream of tomorrow to get through today

Like children detained from an evening of play

Will press their sore noses against frosted glass

And savour the sight of bare feet on the grass.

 

Men dream of tomorrow, but clocks do not lie

Like reveries that unrest beneath do belie,

For time flows like blood from wounds rankling and deep,

And dreams are but wishes that morn cannot keep. 

 

Featured image: http://www.messagetoeagle.com/
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Author:

A reluctant cynic with a morbid fascination for skulls and Schopenhauer's philosophy. Sugar addict. Poetry lover. http://www.theverseforwear.wordpress.com

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