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