Weary is my soul, so I send myself to bed for sweet repose.
My limbs beckon me to rest for they are all but tired of the
journey that floats and lingers in my head, my mind is a
subject of deeper sorrows.
Let my thoughts not abide too long within me, send them on
their way, let their feet take them on a pilgrimage of safety
far away from this poets eyes that droop from tiredness and
Only the blind can see through the thin veil of repose, watching
as angels wings caress tired eyes and give them sight again, the
blind now see no more shadows or sightless scenes.
Oh beckon the gentle moon that makes night so beauty filled
hanging there alone like a jewel cast in its roundness globe
shining its reflection over earth’s ghastly tomb.
Thus as the tides come and go, my limbs and tired soul by day
and night flow through a mind touched by angels glow and find
this poet quiet and still in sleep’s gentle repose.
© Copyright 2014 by Vincent Moore. All rights reserved