We can’t take back tomorrow,
when we live in yesterday.
Every today becomes,
the shadow of another day.
It all plays out before us.
It doesn’t matter where we go.
Our paths are pre-woven,
together into our cloak.
Whether we gather it around tightly,
or let it slip from our grasp,
it warmly encases us,
we’re trapped by its past;
warmth without fire,
it grows cold to the touch.
But, we find singular comfort,
as it clings to us mightily.
Patched and woven daily,
we care not that it’s worn;
for it’s our comfort and cover,
to measure out each today.
No, we can’t take back tomorrow,
when we live in yesterday.