The Point

I wake up to mornings pale and numb,
To ghosts of dreams that never come.
I ask: “When will the light, in mercy, start
To pour its grace upon my heart?”

I miss that hopeful kind of bliss—
The cruel joy life once used to kiss,
The thrill of rising just to feel,
That we are real, we are here.
Now sleep’s the only peace I find;
It numbs the noise inside my mind.

I chase the warmth of passing faces,
The faint perfume of old embraces.
I tie my joy to those around,
To fleeting laughs, to human sound;
I know it’s wrong, yet can’t let go—
This loneliness is all I know

For even love will one day fade,
And memory rots where dreams once played
If all must fade, if all disappoint—
Then tell me, God,
What is the point?