Such trouble in the one word “may.”
An uncertainty, yet wishful; we pray
That tomorrow may be the day.
It is only vaguely referential
To the undone and potential.
It is, like a dangling piece of rope
To be climbed with fearless hope.
It is, behind a shapeless curtain,
The hidden seeker of the uncertain.
It is, the unanswerer of whys
And the unopener of the eyes.
May is only a suggestion,
A marker for the unknown question
We seldom pay attention to.
There may be so much else to do,
You hardly know that you are you.
