I dream that moonrise was mere hours ago
But dream I can’t because I’m now awake
And chemical assistance can’t bestow
Some true rest I need for ‘morrow to take
Sad sickness does to me bequeath a truth
In madness only can my heart survive
From echoes unto echoes now forsooth
Since long abandoned is the hope to thrive
For who can structure night’s soft siren call
In such a way that worries won't lie down?
And why do some of us lack fear of all
Save only sleep itself in darkness drowned?
But morning shall still rear its ugly head
Prepared or not, wide-eyed, or full of dread
Mar 17, 2014
Mar 17, 2014 at 3:41 AM UTC
I dream that moonrise was mere hours ago
But dream I can’t because I’m now awake
And chemical assistance can’t bestow
Some true rest I need for ‘morrow to take
Sad sickness does to me bequeath a truth
In madness only can my heart survive
From echoes unto echoes now forsooth
Since long abandoned is the hope to thrive
For who can structure night’s soft siren call
In such a way that worries won't lie down?
And why do some of us lack fear of all
Save only sleep itself in darkness drowned?
But morning shall still rear its ugly head
Prepared or not, wide-eyed, or full of dread
This is sonnet #3 in my quest to write more sonnets than the Bard, who only wrote a measly 154 in his whole lifetime.
