It holds no promises.
Today, an inconvenience. Tomorrow, a possible struggle.
Instincts stimulate unmentioned ways to get us through today and tomorrow. A personal poetry of equations made for various encounters, trying challenges and bitter revelations. Those inescapable fears that greet us for the very first time. Problems that stand back and giggle at our naive ways. We write our own poetry and its reasons. Some, write it to equate everyone else but themselves.
Display your anger, disappointment and frustration today. If tomorrow's worse, a museum will be made. Speak of your achievements and possessions. When mountains are presented in your hands, you'll be on your knees to be on the papers. Seek for sympathy under the dark clouds, and when the storm comes you'll sail the seas to hunt for more.
It is a flaw of mine - evident with just a scroll below. I'm sorry.
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