Sleep only brings tomorrow

Searching for somewhere to sleep,
I painted a picture of you on my arm,
in hope you gave me the strength,
to carry on; to achieve.
But the rain leaves you smudged,
a blurred image of your former self.
And I have nothing on me,
Except a low-res photo and the letter you wrote.

Walking across the park, it seems,
that in this light, without you present,
the swings and slide are mere statues,
waiting to come alive upon sensing our play.
No one picnics, no students playing ‘ball,
the wind blowing up across the river’s ebb,
taking our dreams with its flow.
And so I lay down on the grass.

Sodden and increasingly cold,
my conscience blurs with the
reality of who I have become.
I pour my heart out into the soil,
hoping that somehow you might listen,
and maybe you will take me up,
to a warmer place.
But sleep will only bring tomorrow.