Pop Poetry: The Chameleon

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Beau Romanowski, Staff Writer

When tomorrow comes

I dread the night

For which it seems inevitable 

that I will be awake till dawn

 

O For When Dusk Comes 

I sink into thy own weight

Though I have changed my clothes

My skin is still the same 

And tomorrow is a new day to face

 

Though I am seen a new by very few

I am the same for my skin has not changed

I make myself known but hard to see 

Pleasing to the eye and how I weep

For the days that have past

And how it still defines me tomorrow

 

And however much dread I also plead

For tomorrow to come 

For this day to end

Because everyday is tomorrow 

But I wait for today