Even As I Sleep

Ah, life has its rainbows that grace Sleep's respite - The lover's smile, limb that draws warmth with deft touch! Is impact a slave to a force that's perceived Or peace found that subjects nocturnal breath's laps Which grace on my waking the shore of day's dreams (Though light as foam captured by braids of green kelp)? When grace curves, does blink, mean its fruit grows more pit? Is notice required for love's gift to mean much? Does Universe alter as grace gets conceived, Delay in delivery means grace could lapse? Does grace have more value that's given by teams? Does love that we stumble across need more help? Some rail, scorn life's night, sure that night's not their friend I swear, though, to quit friend, no cup I would choose! They die, they out-live me, I'd leave them alone? (Though wisdom suggests all life flies that survives!) Scrapped knees aren't disasters regretted with time. No poem's praise satisfies questions divine. Both motion and rest seem to help life refine And grow toward a purpose that someday might rhyme, Own joy past all meaning, a mold to change lives! Is cruel Sleep mistress or strength you intone, A soil that you grow in or time that you lose, Is Sleep more life's servant or salve for its end? Brian Johnston 15th of November in 2019