The Day After Tomorrow Poem by Eric Cockrell
The Day After Tomorrow
his clothes smell like Tuesday
on a Friday afternoon;
he bums a smoke, a light,
and looks away.
the lines in his face, jaw set,
like a map to where
he cant quite remember.
he watches the smoke
curl up like infidel prayers
lost on a street corner,
to the lights and the noise.
dont look too close!
you might find your self
staring back at you
from the day after tomorrow!
It's always scary to behold a lost soul, n more scary it is when one are lost, that is excellently demonstrated here, i love the metaphor mostly.... Very good! ! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 8:58:56 AM # 1.0.0.1119
A good one, sir. Nobody knows what the future holds. You may get big-headed, thinking you have the world at your feet. Looking down at paupers, to find yourself amongst them one day, also bumming smokes. Egos will always come to a fall...