Asleep my fellows wander through a maze
without a clue of strategy or thread.
Somnambulating heavy are their days
as dense as night, as if they’re walking dead
who cannot even note what path they took.
They live oblivious in financed ease
and only rise to half-awareness shook
awake by earthquake-sized catastrophes.

It’s not as if they fell asleep somewhen
along their span; existence is a knot
for them, they never thought to pry apart.
They’re no more weary than they’ve ever been.
Each trial glimpse at God someone forgot,
propelled to motion by a dreaming heart.