London Poem: Day 99

24 November

Contorted, twisted figures,
We become tangled, lacking
The idea of tomorrow.
If there is no tomorrow,
Where does that leave today?
Hunched and fleeting,
It doesn’t matter,
There is right now
To breathe heavy sighs.
The present asks not to
Be forgotten too soon.
So, tangled, we give in
With no answers to the worry of
The future, we only live to
See what the flashes as they come.
Wrap me up tighter,
And let the day linger
A few moments longer.

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