The Next Day Poem by Peter Black

I find myself living for the next day
To get to tomorrow, fall asleep, awake,
To find myself hoping for a new day,
To bring about a sudden switch and change;
To say, 'Look it, my whole world has turned, '
Lay my hands with love on a golden girl;
But when my eyes creep open every day,
Dismay, you fool everything is the same
And to bridge the ravine from here to there,
From the disappointments ignored before,
Where hope became peanut shells on the floor,
To the other side where you say, 'The glow'
Is brighter though it is all darkened gray,
You make deals with the day to waste the hours,
And rush to restless sleep to dream of tomorrow.