sleep

there is a tired candle
flickering, waiting for sleep
like a ghost at a lonely bus stop,
alone, still quite alive and shuddering

everything else is missing:
even the tears of hope
that we shed in times of despair
now just tucked away like a shoelace

daylight is a liar: yes it fills in
like water into a trough, but
what was already in the trough
just floats, untempered with

just flirting with the surface,
like petals in a pond
movement paints the illusion of change
but you see, nothing does

and with our long sighs of regret
we extinguish ourselves