Poem: Disordered

Disordered

What was intended for tomorrow came today
while what was for today will wait, again,
has been delayed.  It is too much disorder,
the joints should bend, but along proper angles.
Now, there is only waiting, again, more,
waiting for what should have been already,
worrying that what was not due 
has come too soon, out of time
with what was intended.  
It will be fine, though, yes, fine and good,
if things goes as they should,
if today's disappointment
is rectified tomorrow.

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