Birthdays

It's late; I wake to darkness and the moon,
My rest once more distressed by frightful things.
My body aches from rising far too soon,
And trembles with the fears that autumn brings.
I think October caught me unawares
With turning leaves that suddenly enthrall,
And sighing breezes singing soft like prayers,
Their music dying in the dawning fall.
I hear the changes coming, like the plague,
Brought in with mobile motes of rushing time
To shatter fragile hopes and make dreams vague,
With both the terrifying and sublime.
It's late and I must wait for night to end,
As sleep is ever my inconstant friend.