Sleep has eluded us now,
We do not know where to put our weary heads
Or from where the tranquil breeze blows
For we might put our minds to events of yester
To fathom what robbed this sleep off our faces.
We 've found only void whence we came
From hither with hopeful tomorrow we make way,
But yester troubles away steal such little peace.
How long now have we strive to paint the cloudless days?
Even for a millisecond pretence of rain
In our minds we could have made a torrent of it,
But hope is cynical, such as going to bed
It's never the end of a day, but a break from brink
Give us this day; missed with toils and sweat
So I can swear underneath my thanks.
Hope is an understatement for toiling
But what we have is what we get from swinks of life.
©leodavon
L