In the Afternoon

As the sun hangs heavy burning on high,
Irradiating its beams in the sky,
There is one that casts inward a blind eye
And withdraws beneath cool secluded sheets.

While creatures forage with hectic temper,
The traffic encircles with pitched fever.
A soul solitary slumbering stirs
In repose having discarded his clothes.

As the clockwork unwinds noisily down
The business mandatory of the town,
The weary undisturbed breathes not a sound.
Wordless are the dreams darkening distress.