Poem For Tomorrow

 I can’t see that far ahead.

My muse won’t go there because 

she doesn’t know, like the rest of us,

what is coming upon us so swiftly,

tailored for the times, transforming

in our minds to grasping for a straw,

a thread, who’s on first, who’s in charge.

So I won’t wake up tomorrow suddenly 

birthed into a new order of things that

makes sense. No, it will still be the stew

of events stirring the emotions, blinding

the mind with imaginary scenarios and

petty personal vanities blown up 

into blighters egos’ Bill of Rights 

until they are short circuited and are 

forced to come to their senses.