each day another life to be lived

a gentle sleep begat violent dawns

How do we predict the future when all we have to work with is the past? Follow the flow is apparently our only recourse. The sun will rise in the morning, but we cannot count on it being exactly the same as the day before. When it does not, then who is there that will speak about it tomorrow?

We swing though each day as a life to be lived until the sun goes down, and near death comes hidden in our sleep. Why do we do this? Is it a rehearsal showing us the future of our bodies? Someday perhaps our dreams which seem so real in sleep, that will upon waking, be more real.