Good times are on the way

I'm tired
of being tired
but wary of being weary,
I'm hard-wired,
permanently anxious,
never unhurried,
somewhere in my stomach,
a giant butterfly sleeps,
I sit still cos I'm worried I'll wake it;
I don't crack a smile
cos I'm worried I'll break it,
if my face was a screen
it would scream 'Please wait...
preparing to hibernate'.
My battery's running low,
my system's a bit slow,
and probably needs an update.
The birds sing but it's not yet spring,
it's only winter on repeat,
and then there's the rain,
the slow drip, drip, drip of pain,
making the misery complete...

But-
despite the wind and the sleet,
the word on the street,
is that good times are on the way;
And so I pray,
for people both home and away,
knowing that in spite of the night,
somewhere else it is day.
How easily I forget to remember
that age, like a mortgage,
is just a number;
our frost-bitten dreams in December,
are still resolutely undead,
so finally I rest my head,
a pauper on a king-sized bed,
knowing good times are ahead,
some good times are ahead.