Tired Soul

A Poem by Russell Munroe

© 2013 Russell Munroe

Author's Note

Tired Soul

Sitting at the edge of reality, and un.
At the nexus of consciousness, sub and un.
Where my fears and hopes are juxtaposed.

I grow weary of asking questions
And looking for the answers.

I lust only for nothing,
For comfort.
A plethora of pillows for my soul.
For sleep.
I wish to visit Nod.
After that, perhaps I’d languish with the Lotus-eaters.

Sleep, come softly, swiftly.
Soothe my psyche, won’t you?

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