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