I hate tomorrow, that thief of peace,
Stealing the present, never to cease.
It whispers dreams, it paints the skies,
But only brings demands and lies.
I hate tomorrow, a waiting game,
A hollow promise, always the same.
Today slips through my weary hands,
While it laughs at my demands.
I hate tomorrow, distant and cold,
Always ahead, yet never to hold.
A fleeting shadow, a cruel disguise,
A silent echo of empty lies.
But still, I walk its endless track,
For it pushes me, there's no way back.
And maybe, one day, who can tell,
The tomorrow I hate will treat me well.
YOU ARE READING
illusions
Poesía"This is where I write down my thoughts and ideas about various topics that pique people's curiosity."
