There is no title to this poem.

There is no pattern to my rhymes.

This is simply a way

To talk about new times.

This can mean a few things.

New can be filled with sorrow,

Or, if you if you allow it, 

A gateway into tomorrow.

I prefer the latter of the two. 

I imagine most people would.

Sadly enough though, they don't,

Even though they should.

This poem has no title.

Our futures have no plot line.

We have to make our own,

Just like I'm making mine.