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Rated: E · Poetry · Philosophy · #1638304
The fickle promises of tomorrow that hold us back from living today

Tomorrow, thou dost betray me
For thou hast delivered sweet lies
From bowls inlaid with jade and silver
They bore such a pleasant disguise

Of no use are treasures deceased
From land's most fortuitous seas
Thy schooner awaits thee in vain
And gratuitous mischance remains

I pray thee, do search upon soil
Would that our fair Providence guide
To find where she buried Tomorrow
Perhaps in that trench deep and wide?

Tomorrow hath fled my fair home
Whilst yesterday drank of my tea
Her absence, a hasty betrayal
I thought that she might comfort me

But nay, 'tis the hour to know
Of her trivial, coquettish ways
A fickle friend's frivolous thirst
Hath led her to leave me ablaze

Go thee, yesterday, I insisted
My humor is no longer twisted
For I know whilst her lust persisted
Tomorrow ne'er truly existed
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