My weary mind doth cry for peace at last,
Yet restless winds still howl within my head.
The weight of thought grips tighter, holding fast,
And steals the quiet meant for sleep instead.
The days press on, unyielding in their pace,
No breath to steal, no moment left my own.
Each task doth carve its mark upon my face,
Yet none do see how much my soul has grown.
Oh, grant me rest, a fleeting, tender gift,
A pause between the echoes of my strife.
Let heavy lids and weary spirits lift,
And free me from the chains of waking life.
But even sleep doth tease, then slip away,
And leaves me longing for the break of day.
Hayden Coombs 