The sounds of tomarrow
are a silent cacophony,
have no place yet within
my memory, intrude
only in uncertain
interludes of fear or
imagined bravery, dare
to balance the woe
of choices past which
can't be undone, joys
ended or hung out to dry
where crying will do no
good, with decisions yet
to be made from cavalcades
of offers, coffers of trinkets,
or that which is in my
truest interest.
first published in Illinois State Poetry Society
©2016 Bonnie Manion