Sonnet 32 'sometimes, I Wake Up From Sweet Death's Dull Sleep'
Sometimes, I wake up from Sweet Death’s dull sleep,
And find, I’ve not been living as I could,
My friends tell me they tire of seeing me weep…
I feel like I’m a boy, not flesh, but wood…
My nose is growing long, they seem to think,
Although I speak, and mean just what I say,
Some tell me that my promises all stink,
Like broccoli that’s been left out all day.
Well, I’M NOT LIKE THAT! And I don’t agree!
“What seems a lie’s a Promise,” bright Ray* said,
“a need, ramshackle, waiting to be born…”
I think he’s right, and even though he’s dead
I’ll take his words, go charging up the stairs,
And make amends, and show, I’m one who Cares!
*’What seems a lie, is a promise, a ramshackle need, waiting to be born…” – Ray Bradbury
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