Writer's Coupe Poudre

It is not weakness

it is the utter 

albeit transient

depletion

of resource and reserve

only a period 

of rest

and a momentary reprieve

can fill the cradle again

until then

the void echoes

of darker hours

dread heavy lids

powerless to resist

the downward pull

close out the day

there we are 

Revenants

of an un-life 

wandering aimlessly 

Night's razor edge

of dreams