SONNET VII

I claw at my sheets as sleep slips away,

Speaking words that betray hesitation.
Consciousness jostled me into the day
With no training and no preparation.
And the morning feels like an epitaph,
Or a promise never meant to be said.
The day is a slaughter. I am a calf
As I endeavor to rise from my bed.
I cannot keep track of each shattered dream,
Spilling like sand from my ears to the floor;
They are too many to count and they seem
To resemble dunes piled up at the shore.
I stagger upon this oceanless beach
Made up of dreams that were just out of reach.