The Siren’s Lullaby

*This was my first attempt at ever trying to write a sonnet in its true traditional form. It was a process, but an enjoyable one.*
  
If only there were other ways to stay

In close proximity for sleeping eyes. 

A cushion left behind, indeed it cries, 

“Come home to me, for I will soon repay

Your company with shelter from the day.”

The bitter sun, with golden hands it pries

My slumber and rest, unwillingly dies. 

This forceful torture makes this poet crazy. 
However, there is more than just this plight. 

This life alone is built for greater things. 

I can’t bemoan my weak and wearied state

While people daily defy their twists of fate. 

For privilege remains common and trite

To those whose only problems are alarm rings.  

 

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