Tomorrow

I don’t want to die; nor does anyone else.
Yet, all are burned & buried neath soft green felts.

We strut, we fret, we grow dim & we go out.
We dream & we hope; all, while riddled with doubt.

Our star daily plays out our lives on the run.
Dim dawn, bright days; then, shadowed dusk ends the fun.

Reverse river rocks; we start smooth & grow rough.
It’s how we survive an existence so tough.

Could have more in common with fiery skies…
Night’s death would be easy, if chased with sunrise.