The best of times

I wake up. O why do I see
this suffering, this lie,
I go to sleep with the hope
of a different world, free of
wounded words,
treacherous thoughts,
arrogant actions,
but invariably I wake up to
the same world, I go back
to sleep again; with an
indomitable hope, I wake
up again, nothing happens,
nothing changes, I look at the
morning sun, the moon at
night, the disillusioned stars
like me, they give their lights
nevertheless, I sleep as I walk
through my lines, I rewrite my
poems, my bedtime, the best
of times.