Quivering, my hands try to hold
the thing most beyond man’s control.
My bloodshot eyes cannot behold
the weariness I can’t console.

My achy bones refuse to move
to encounter the vague unseen,
to meet what latent dreams disprove
in the fog of the in between.

I’ve not adjusted to the light.
I tried but my eyes weren’t prepared.
I want the end to be in sight—
the insight of which I am scared.

When will at last I be awake?
Is this the day I understand?
I stumble out into daybreak
to hold the future in my hand.