It’s funny how we ink the future,
on calendars that crumble like dry leaves
before the day's breath touches them.
How we sketch blueprints
with hands shaking from uncertainties,
believing we control the tides
when even the moon laughs at our confidence.
I once knew a girl
who planned her wedding
before her first kiss.
She's divorced now,
wearing her dreams like old sneakers,
too scuffed to be proud of,
too familiar to throw away.
I used to map my tomorrows
across star charts and sticky notes,
only to find today
peering through the window,
a guest waiting for tea,
while I fumbled with doors unopened,
keys unturned, surprises unwrapped.
Plans are snowflakes in summer:
beautiful ideas,
melting before they land.
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Author:
gray0328 (
Offline) - Published: September 18th, 2026 09:21
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 29
- Users favorite of this poem: sorenbarrett, Paul Bell, Friendship, nephilim56 ( Norman Dickson), Mya Mello
Offline)
Comments5
What a poignant and most beautiful poem Gray sad but beautiful and with such great metaphors a definite fave
Thank You Soren
A pleasure
Yes, how many have wrote down their future, walked out the door and got killed by a bus.
Hindsight, if only we had it in spades.
Thank You Paul for sharing your feedback I appreciate it
Well written
Thank You lovely lady
a beautiful write friend and a fav
Thank You Norman
Most welcome
Once we realize that we are puppets in the hands of fate we can still make blueprints for the future but stay aware that things may or may not go as we desire 🤔
A good write 👌
Thank you Nafisa for sharing your feedback and support
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