The Sleepers

The Sleepers

No matter what each day dawns anew,

Bringing with it possibilities undertaken by few.

Each door that stands before me and you,

Is a pathway, an entrance for us to pursue.

Sitting alone in the dimly lit morning light,

The morning’s fingers I feel warming what a delight.

But others slumber in depths while in repose,

And will remain there until the evening’s close.

It’s sad to imagine a life barely realized,

One that could’ve been more utilized.

Yet, no word or deed can spur them along,

To rise to the birth of another day’s dawn.

So let them sleep a voice whispers to me,

To change their lives isn’t up to thee,

When the books are completed pages closed,

Then and only then, will opportunities be disposed.

Mornings hold a special meaning to those who seek,

Those who are tethered to the light, of love often speak.

And with some regret, they watched those sleeping,

While time ticks by daylight’s promises missing.

Is it my duty, my assigned task I often ask,

To change each one, or is the mold cast?

That question is asked each day of my life,

But does it really matter, or simply cause strife?