Dark, a home not forgotten by the eternal green,

“Sit.” says the man infused with anger from the tick, tick, tick of time.

“No.” commanded his divided soul.
“Follow,” his shadow murmurs behind him.

But, in the sea of the moonlit sky
sits a star, too bright for its own good.
She sings a song of fortune for the withering man-

“What does the future hold for me,” he inquires

His eyes then close, not expecting an answer-

Though, through the twinkling dusk sky
A whisper can be heard for only those in-between dream and reality

“Wait-wait till tomorrow.”
And only then does his shadow fade.