For We are Tired Dreamers

A Year of Sonnets — 068/365

Photo by Alex Iby on Unsplash

And now we yield to sleep, serenity;
a hopeful prayer may crumble on our lips:
awake us stronger, well and truly free
of every grief that bends our shoulders, hips.
For we grow weary of the stranger’s shape
o’erwriting all our stardust with neglect
and we are left to wonder, mouths agape
this animal the psychopomp collects
once we are well and broken, past the grace
that sages say we hold, the vibrant light
designed by come creator who replaced
the beast within with certain godly rights
like dignity and freedom — was it so?
So many of us will never truly know.