Let Them Rest (Perhaps They Dream)

Abject night casts an embracing allure, especially upon those in slumber,
exhausted spirits, broken ego’s from yesterday’s sun drowning under.
Thickened blood, creaking spines, burdened minds of defeated men,
to let them sleep, or to wake them hurried is the dilemma there and then.
The truth is that every yawning sun is betrothed unto a borrowed moon,
and every dawn must surely break, for liberation is the only boon.
For now I watch the towers burn, I see my people in darkened homes,
while fearless and hungering, the hounds of war, rabid and tirelessly roam.
The monuments standing from centuries ago, stand witness to a dying breed,
and the heroes few and fallen now, patriots less than those in need.
The pantheon meant for vocal wars, a colosseum now for spilling blood,
and where once spoke outspoken men, rests the eternal uprising flood.
I say to skies that gaze in horror, do not weep lest you add to sorrows,
let my people dream and wallow, let them rest in darkness hollow,
they need not wake to the sound of war, for helpless they would stop and stare,
let them rest, perhaps they dream, of a brighter sun, without a care.

8 thoughts on “Let Them Rest (Perhaps They Dream)

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