Fear no more the clandestine tomorrow
my Hero mind,
She is the yesterday of another tomorrow-
a land my soul may or may not find.
Fret not of tomorrow
for she will become yesterday--
Moses' foot crested on the surface of a rock.
Fear no more tomorrow
she is not an offspring of time
just remnant in Time's intestine.
The male son of time is today,
tomorrow is just fiction, a prophetic say
of a familiar stranger from the land of may.
Fret not of FATE
for her gait is that of a fickle being,
be afraid not of DESTINY her mate
her presence is that of a breeze
not felt in the marrow but, seen.
Fear not the voice of a fortune teller,
the diction of prediction of a professor PELLER
who eavesdrop as he peep
leap and slip half deep
into an unknown world of bleak
to unveil a tomorrow
that is pleasant, a mist of bliss
or that is an hurricane from the wilderness of beasts.
Fret not my soul
when tomorrow threatens to be an hamlet,
lost in a state of tempest
where HOPE, a puzzled mope
in a struggle to co-op
melt fear to a liquid steel
forging a rust iron shackle;
a charmed bangle clutching firm on the ankle.
Oh ye fellow wimpy minds,
the world is just HIS word,
lost not in thought
over ALL that is but lust
that will rust,
folded in his white wide palms is its dust.
