Future Imperfect

Tomorrow comes on wings dark and implacable,
But I was not yet done with today.
Too many things that I needed to do,
Yet more things that I needed to say.
Faces faded to memories at midnight's stroke,
An echo of a touch, scent lingering in the air.
Only distant ghosts now walk at my side,
Where once walked those caught in time's snare.
I should resent the relentless tick of the clock, the limited hours streaming by and by,
But though I thrash at the future's pull,
At least I had the chance to say goodbye.