Tired with all these...

Tired with all these, for restful death I cry,
As, to behold desert a beggar born,
And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,
And purest faith unhappily forsworn,
And guilded honour shamefully misplaced,
And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,
And right perfection wrongfully disgraced,
And strength by limping sway disabled,
And art made tongue-tied by authority,
And folly doctor-like controlling skill,
And simple truth miscall'd simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill:
Tired with all these, from these would I be gone,
Save that, to die, I leave my love alone.

Beautifully written, well composed, deeply touched. One of Shakespeare's sonnets, which happens to be one of my favourites. "Tired with all these..." Indeed, I am. I am just too tired, tired and tired. Tired of hoping when not getting, tired of giving when not receiving, tired of loving and then losing. Only to realize at the end of the day, all that is left for me is nothing but my woefully tears.

Without my wings, I feel so small like a baby in a shell. Need a break badly, need to sleep peacefully.