Poetry: What the future holds

The tapestry of glorious days,
Adorned with beauty in all ways.
A gallery of fulfilled dreams.
The receipt for my laboured schemes-
In wait. For I have made my hays.

Tomorrow is a glaring glaze-
Clear, as God hath promised-no haze

This is why my fragile heart gleams
For the promise the future holds
Beauty deeply lies in her gaze

The kind with the promise to daze,
Shining bright like a thousand beams.
Knotted to some celestial seams.
For the promise the future holds,
I make God my foundation base.


What the future holds is a bottle of wine.
Two glasses to toast and a table to dine.
After the wars force down a troubling mind,
And peace paddles for calm to find,
We’d embrace us up, sublime.

The wind that carries the message
Will never be known to umbrage.

Days will retire, nights will sleep.
We’ll camp around her fire’s clip,
Where we will not remember age.

What the future holds is the passage of time.
The burial of will is the power of crime.
The days of death,and the days we’d live
Will receive if only we’d dare to give
Every single time.


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