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Sunday, January 21, 2018

Again, Tailor Bell

Every night I must give up to
the next day
Grow tired, retreat and fade away
My heart calling out for more time
My thoughts drifting off among
the sublime
So I pray in the spare
of lucidness
My hopes, my dreams, 
my willingness
Yet into sleep I dive
full forward hurl
This other world might weigh
my mortal soil
To steal along the rich
and heady clay then
Slain by rising violins
So I must fall
And thus...I just fall...
Again 

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