Tomorrow there's a lovely gathering
in honor of anything,
attended by everyone.

An invite is an insult,
as no one is free
from the breathing frenzy.

I'll take part in the show.
Someone whispers,
"Tomorrow will never know."

The night is bright;
it's when ideas start growing,
and inside my mind:
hail, blizzards, snowing.

In the morning, I lie frozen,
as I hear the voice of the chosen.
My head is around the bend.
A cycle without end.

Can't you see that I'm damaged?
I'm lost; out of control.
Can't you see that I'm damaged?
I have no heart.
I have no soul.

Tomorrow everyone will ask:
"Where have you been?"
and, "You had one task!"

A story without end,
I cannot break,
I cannot mend.

Souls will cling to light.
Like mosquitoes, they will bite
when you don't star in their show,
"tomorrow will never know".

It's those whispers from the past
that like the future,
they will last
till the day that I'm dead and gone.

Let love live.
Life will kill.
One black swan.

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Vincent Van Zandvoort
Vincent Van Zandvoort

Vincent Van Zandvoort is a writer of poetry, prose & short fiction. Science fiction - fantasy - supernatural - thriller - drama. ©️ Copyright 2020-2023. Vincent Van Zandvoort. All Rights Reserved.

Poetry / Prose
Poetry / Prose

I compose poetry and prose about the disappointments of life; dishonest people we come across; crushed hopes and expectations; the corruption that lies within everyone, but also lighter stuff.

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