A Somnambulist Poem by Bartholomew Arkoh Boamah Sarbah

A somnambulist I slumber my way home
My path is clear
But my deceived brain makes bumps of it
A deception that often brainwashes the mind of its own course
And turns dreams into mere illusions
Swaying the body along the path
With no direction to track

Trains with people ply the rails
And laughter beam from within
As gleeing people shout in mockery
Alas we trail the same path
But days and nights meet me on foot
And nature's tides beat against my legs
Yet my guardian propels me on
And a bed of roses I see
Awaiting to rest my wearying body.