The pages no longer turn at will,
The knees no longer salute,
The mind carries on
As if yesterday mattered,
As if tomorrow began anew.
As tomorrow encroaches;
On what tomorrow will be.
The sunrise still finds its setting,
After today sings its songs;
Tomorrow’s edge of existence
Creeps in to cut another day into cliché.
© Jennifer A. Johnson, 2017, All Rights Reserved