The Poet's Perseverance

My days have been a dream 

My nights, for wondering. 

Pondering thoughts 

Over seas too far 

Breaking this songbirds cage, 

Wielding words as shooting stars 

Bursting in its space. 

A thought of a thought 

Hath been never wrought 

If not placed in the absence of blame, 

A foolish dream is a sight to see 

When looking beyond our means. 

Not satisfied by the life that's lived 

'Tis better to die from pain, 

Than to stay in a place as this 

In this world today. . . 

For when tomorrow comes 

And it remains the same, 

Then what is one to do? 

If the storm never ceases 

Like yesterday, 

Then what is tomorrow's use?