The Thief Of Tomorrows Poem by Oluwatosin Thomas
The Thief Of Tomorrows
I
He comes softly,
Not with chains or knives,
But with whispers that say "later."
He steals not gold,
But the glitter of done things.
Dreams left sleeping,
Plans half-built,
Songs unsung in the mind's attic.
II
He wears no mask,
For he looks like comfort,
Feels like rest,
And calls himself mercy.
But when the clock wakes,
He's gone and so is your moment.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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10/19/2025 12:20:12 PM # 1.0.0
