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Tired
January 3, 2019
Heads hit their respective pillows
And eyes close.
Lights in all of the populated houses
Blink off, one after the other.
Languor falls over all but an unlucky few
Who will miss the placation
Of all of their troubles.
As for us, the darkness will consume
And far away we’ll go.
Though the unlucky ones
Will regret their dissipation
And will long to repent.
And as for us,
We will wither at the sun
As a tempered, ingrate child
And complain about the gift’s imperfections
Until time is up,
And it’s all gone.
© Anonymous
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