There is only today,
There is no more,
But along comes a day just like the day before.
A little voice whispers-maybe now,
but always seems to struggle not to be drowned out.
Like ‘patience on a monument’
you sit there Shakespeare clever, but still it drags on never changing
for the better.
What is that in this bland monotony?
A treadmill of anxiety that goes on and on forever.
Where’s the light at the end of the blankety-blank tunnel?
I’m tired of waiting
Maybe it’s time to move to greet the future
I’m not a statue after all.