I’d like to go to bed,

wake tomorrow,

find it is all a bad dream.

Dream that it is,

bad as it is,

I am not really sure

when I started dreaming.

When the dream turned

into the shadowed figure

it has become.

Sins of the father

Sins of my father.

Bloated carcass of time

left forgotten.

Days lost in the minutes,

years lost in the hours.

Cusp of change

is changing the present,

determines my future.

It is not as if it were a loose tenon

I forgot to glue.

No, the glue aged when I wasn’t looking.

Not sure if I forgot to look

or forgot to see.

Seeing is believing,

not what I will see tomorrow.

Sorrow or not,

simple is not

as simple is.

Nor is the decision

I must make.

But I leave that for tomorrow.

Tonight, I must dream.