new day?

today is perhaps
another day
born from the lonesome
dark seed
of the abandoned past.
today is nothing new,
it is an echo coming
through a hidden thicket
where i find myself
entangled in the thorns
of a deceptive rose.

no day passes,
no hour comes
or goes without
repeating the blueprint
for waves walking under
the forlorn moon.

sometimes
the day is dressed
like a mirror
and we rise to greet
each day
like it is new,
and we ritualize our
form in front
of the reflected past,
which isn't there
but imprisoned
behind the smoky mirror,
and some days we see
the light of lovely things
or the twisted form
of time's decomposition:
we repeat, we relive,
trying to outsmart
the blanketing rain,
trying to outlive
our persistent shadow.

today is just like
i dreamed it would be:
oppressive with yellow wind,
beleaguered by desultory tides,
deceptively silent
and bitter with irony.