Perchance, I was granted to an orifice;
My iris couldn't lie a glimpse,
Penetrating a sincere vision Tomorrow;
Sharing equal eye with the God all seeing.
Whatever cause this be I do not know,
But this I know in knowing tomorrow
My end do haste. I see I shall perish
Upon the hands of a savior, a Samaritan
After been killed by my own to die.
Napping endless foams whilst much to drink.
Why this eerie collections? I do not know.
It may be the artistry of an intelligent
designer professing his flair.
Is He learning me to know the pain
of loosing one's span unfulfilled?
Could it be the pains and bangs of the
bereaved whilst we wander far?
Or am I being messaged to tell you the pain
of death away from this adventurous lane?
Or leaving all behind, both family and books?
Could it be a lesson of the pain of betrayal?
Or could it be the side effect in wanting
to know tomorrow? You tell me.
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© Ken Orlene Tari