O Precious Sleep
Heavy and low, the fog remains,
the muffled sound, in part explains.
The sun cannot quite pierce, and so
the fog remains, heavy and low.
Ethereal, a trance-like state;
seems clarity will have to wait.
He slips from the material,
a trace-like state, ethereal.
And so it does begin again:
a waking stupor settles in.
Soon will the auditory buzz
begin again, and so it does.
Much confused, disoriented,
deprivation, firm-cemented,
has rocked his world and left his muse
disoriented, much confused.
O precious sleep! Where art thou now?
To close the eyes and dream somehow,
And roam the hills in slumber deep.
Where art thou now, o precious sleep?
----------
for the Swap Quatrain Poetry Contest
sponsored by Emile Pinet
written on 09/05/2022
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