Sunday, August 7, 2011

The Neverending Morn

Every eve as I lay down to pray
I ask for Him to keep the dreams away
I beg for precious hours of respite
My one recourse, the fortress of true night

Where waking thoughts of hurt do not intrude
Into that silence far more black than gloom
Where I am not deemed heinous or unfit
Where memory's wings beat not even a flit

Where I can make believe I've never been
Or had to fight a war I couldn't win
Where all my hope and ugliness and pain
Is swept away off Nothing's endless plane

I like to think by not thinking at all
That eastern light will never come to call
But every day the charcoal sky is torn
My life is but a neverending morn