I haven't written anything in a while, when this suddenly invaded my thoughts. read on
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I may pick-up my guitar.
I might write a little poem, or send my thoughts afar.
I could build a little room
Made of bricks or chewing gum.
I may go out for a walk.
Or maybe not.
Tomorrow is the day that will come next.
It's the day the chicks will up and leave the nest.
Eighteen years and twenty days.
To live with someone else, they say.
Someone that wont be so strict, and such a pest.
Tomorrow I may sit and watch TV.
All the programmes that I would like to see.
But the house will be so still.
Not a sound, or fly to kill.
I will miss my little progeny, I will.
Tomorrow is the day I might expire.
It's a frightening thought, though it's what some might desire.
It could happen any time.
In the middle of a rhyme.
In the bath, or maybe sitting by the fire.
Tomorrow is descending on me fast.
As quickly as a nucleonic blast.
If I live another day, and my rent I have to pay.
If I sell my soul, would the devil sell it back?
Oh dear, it's twelve o`clock.....
Phill Williams. 6th November 2009.
It's not a personal statement, as all my kids left home some time ago, but they still visit every day! I also own my own house, SO NO FEAR OF THE RENT MAN! and I don't fear death striking me down,but it would be nice to be able to watch what I want on TV!