The Promise Of Tomorrow

The only constant he knows is change,
all matters of before critically varied
just as no day replays the same.
He’s learned the reliability of time;
tuned to chameleon tendencies.
No surrounding too new for his becoming
lest fooled by the creatures he walks among;
a sly tongue, his crippling fear.
For the chance of being unprepared
is not desired, not ideal;
a glance to his watch fastened tight
reminded that his trust is still relevant;
that tomorrow promises an alternative to now
and grants yesterday a fog,
a blurred out memory cached deep into a crevice in the lump of noodles occupying the top of his form,
and for that he’s always thankful.

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