Tomorrow

I will not find myself wallowing in nostalgia,

I will not give in to seeing a sunshine bloom

where a dying rose sags

and slowly fades

away,

losing colour, curled up and closing in on confusion

of why it is no longer loved;

for tomorrow I will not disappear in melancholy,

why would I,

when I can do it beautifully

today.

Ian D. Hall 2017