The colorless tale revealed
the thunder within the traveler,
lost among thoughts of another drab day
absent the echoing light
normally demanding something
approaching the end.
Rest — or the appearance
of cloudy dreams lifting him
the gray skies
underfoot — is weary while an end
itself and for him,
thundering only a little longer.
© 2020 | Phillip Knight Scott
dVerse Poets Pub: MTB Lists that Google Give us. I started with “rest is…” and took some liberties with “rest is for the weary”