Couplet of Hope

Whilst I recline to slumber,
thoughts collide into patches of dreams.
Awed at how they outnumber,
attaining forbidden reams.
Depression clouds the insipid poetess.
Having never writ for ages,
Oh! What shadowed distress.
Harrowing glorified sages…
Has not man sired his own mind?
I tempt thee with scared truth.
Gone all ye faithful kind,
to a journey of eternal soothe.
Shall this be the last supper?
Break thy bread of hope!