When I turn toward tomorrow and actually take a long look
I see so many possibilities
I face each as an onslaught, however - a battle mostly to be lost
A great cacophony of wits and half-wits consume my senses
And slowly I add my own voice
I scream out against the possibility, I rail against the opportunity
For each battle possibly won or lost is a forgone conclusion of defeat
I have let it be so...