Sequence

Maybe tonight I'll follow,
Maybe I won't walk away tomorrow,
I know not for sure my many promises,
But I do know the sequence ends,
Somewhere.

The lines on your palm will change for sure,
Your forehead will wrinkle with time alone,
Moles on your tongue might disappear,
Into the many predictions of an inescapable future.

The breeze might not remain mellow,
Birds might bite along the way,
The ground may cease to follow,
Your various shades of grey.

Fine lines are a myth,
Sometimes I believe,
There's nothing too far crossed,
In a world of disbelief.

So wake with me today,
And somehow you'll come to know,
That today is just another tide,
Eddying and rippling through routine careless blows.