Tomorrow

I wish that I would sit at home, 

A lovely book in hand, 

And look upon the struggling, 

I had once been so damned. 

A warmer fire blazing, 

That sat in front of me, 

Than I had ever known before, 

Just sitting at my feet. 

A smell of roasted duck, 

That had found its way to home, 

Where there used to be few apples, 

Sat along my kitchen bowl. 

A soft and branded sweater, 

Kissing up upon my neck, 

Where I used to only hold, 

A ratty old and borrowed mesh. 

I hope that I may entertain, 

A couple from my work, 

Where used to dream of those, 

With whom I'd laugh in bursts. 

A picture frame upon my wall, 

That stated what I was, 

Tried hard I did, to earn it then, 

The degree I thought I must. 

I picture these because I wish, 

That this may be tomorrow, 

It seems to me that seeing it, 

Will save me from nows sorrow. 

Today is but another hope, 

To close the gap to me, 

Walking up the days at hand, 

And working to be free. 

For now it’s not tomorrow,  

But today is just the key, 

For now it’s not tomorrow, 

but someday it will be.