Sleep

28 Jul 2000

Sleep, gentle pain, for I need a respite;
all the days of worry and fret
have left me weary of strife.
Though crises have created this life
and pain has molded the course
I find that peace has become the goal
much sooner than I could have imagined.
What joy greater than this camaraderie
that I find, unexpected?
Time later for games and condemnation,
now only do I long for easy smiles
and languid days.
It would be mendacious for me to say
that this brief moment of belonging
does not dually tear me in two – 
yearning for camaraderie in smiles
and weeping for the loneliness of my life.
My last, best, hope
has gone and died,
and I am left alone
to posit theories of abuse
that created this life.
Sleep, sharp pain, for I need surcease;
an end to warring with this life,
tooth-and-nailing a mere survival,
and eking out a barren existence – 
desolate and bleak,
for my last, best, hope has died
and all I want is peace.


© 2000, Tara Tambolleo