Weary Soul 

Tired of sleep, that routinely beeps

Tired of food, the insatiable deeps

Tired of garments, that grow old

Tired of a house, desperate to be sold
My mind and with won’t reconcile

The deeds yet and of those awhile

My thoughts each churn and chant hymns

And beats whose dance lack rhythms
Where does this compass lead?

So my weary soul may heed

I must on my knees report this hurdles

To the one expert at ending struggles

©Grace Okoliko

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