Tiring days and wakeful nights, sleep eludes.
Thought of what was and what’ll never be, intrudes.
Promises whispered in earnest,
Of futures now laid to silent rest.
Clouds of tranquil darkness take a stance,
Against melancholy’s relentless advance.
Gently lulling the ship of woes’ steam,
Steering it toward the ethereal world of dream.
Where reality is fluid, to mold and to hold,
Our hopes and dreams, unfold as told.
And in that sparse slumber we find peace,
A benevolent release, all problems cease.
Jerked awake by reality’s pull to the present,
Too soon, to a world of quiet discontent.
For what is it we desire?
If not our dreams to acquire.