What sweet delusion choice,
To dream that we, in our mortality,
We are captains of fate,
That we are not steered uncaringly by an indifferent boatman.

We wake with ideas in greater numbers than time,
The day unwinds until the spool is sprung,
We find the light gone and our dreams exsanguinated,

How carry you to sleep?
Does your pillow not stab at you?
Is your bed of spirit and herb?
Perhaps a lover’s arm brings peace,
Do you slumber at all?

While some bask in the new day,
I find only loathing the golden light,
I take offense that it spreads over my skin,
It is my bane today and upon the morrow,
If another day I have to live.

Birds sing and scavenge,
I wish for them success,
If only consuming their query would bring silence,
Blanketing quiet that would consume my ears.

Still the Sun,
Laughing and touching,
Invading my morning,
How I would bury it behind clouds.

I do not embrace any sorrow,
I do not seek the blackness of night,
I only wish to dream longer of my hopes,
I desire they be reality.

The thread is unwinding,
I can see the bare spool,
My hands burn to stop it,
But I cannot halt time.

I am not Atlas,
I cannot carry the world,
I cannot even heft my own,
So Sun, leave me be.