dcmarti1 Posted December 24, 2013 Share Posted December 24, 2013 I sleep because I am weary,Not because I am pure: And when my blanket is fully drawn About my face, the walls turn to stone From their gypsum; and the troubadours Are a floor below and not across the room As ones and zeros on a silver disc.I sleep because I am weary,Not because I am pure: And the immediate cold is dreamed A more ancient breath than it is, Striking a different bed than the one In which I drift between toss and turn, Peopled only with my form.I sleep because I am weary,Not because I am pure: And it is the Sleep of Death And not the Sleep of Peace; And it is the Sleep of Doubt And not the Sleep of Piety; And it is an unwary sleep.I sleep because I am weary,Not because I am pure: And the frosty battlements give way To modern plumbing and power; To a laptop and coffee pot; To a sometimes-remembered God Of Missal but not of my action. Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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