The night is my last comfort.
An end to a trying day,
I wait for you to come to me…
So that dreams may find their way.
My restless eye’s grow weary,
My soul cries for sweet release
From the bitter taste upon my tongue…
And loves unfinished feast.
For who are wee
These kindred fools…
That bare life’s wretched touch…
For we are meager dreamers
And dare to live as such.
Antony King © 2018 Revised

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