Blest Sleep

Lewis said it well, that there are
those who don't have anything to say,
yet put it into words. I could say lots
of things, destructive and depressing,
uplifting and supportive, but it is late,
and it has been a day long both in hours
and emotion, and I need my rest
to face whatever comes my way upon
the rising of the sun. The poem isn't
eloquent, nor is the poet, who's been
drained of all her cleverness and mirth
but drained her goblet dry as well, and so
is thinking that blest sleep will come
in just a bit. In just a bit.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014