Does Your Sleep Feel Like Rest

I went searching for myself,
I didn't find anything, 
No bone comb, cave painting, 
No piece of polished glass on a string.
I'm mostly writing for myself, 
Photographs of harbour stairs, 
Tide waving dead man's fingers, 
Wind as cold as thoughts and prayers.

You hang your hat up on the wind, 
chased by shadows on moonless nights, 
I'm just as sharp as a marble sometimes, 
hoping one day to get one thing right.

Dark riders on the road again, 
the truth is in her bed, 
I barely know that I'm blessed, 
Does your sleep even feel like rest?

I went searching for the answers
the mathematics leaves me cold, 
you've been sifting through the rubble, 
You'll maybe find your neighbours bones.

You're out here just tilting at Windmills, 
A poem in a bulletproof vest, 
It took me two years to write one sonnet,
Does your sleep ever feel like rest?

Dark riders on the road again, 
the truth is in her bed, 
I barely know that I'm blessed, 
Does your sleep even feel like rest