No, You're not, but you probably should be based on my poor writing.

Tomorrow, we say, all will be better,
Yet our eyes set on the lowering sun.
A secret hope that it doesn’t return,
Hiding our fears as we would a broken feather.

Who knows, we ask, what tomorrow will bring,
The moonlight shines off of our weathered skin.
We proclaim that we’re ready to begin,
But our heart shivers, beating with the stars that sing.