My eyelids trap my sight in,
the sunlight is but a red tint
and though the wind is a slight hint
I feel nothing, trapped in my skin.
My joints need oiling, they're weak as tin
and the outside world is a false stint
of hot summer mornings that are never distinct,
I feel nothing, trapped in my skin.

Yet when the birds sing their gay
tune, I know the world will resume soon,
but then my eyes open with desire
to a world where night is simply day,
and here it is, this bright white sun-lit noon
that in thoughtless sleep I admire.

Author guidance for This poem

I don't do Iambic pentameter because I don't have time haha, but I just recently started doing these in class.
One day, I will do Iambic Pentameter.

updated Feb 24 '10 by d.f.m