Thinking With the Sit of the Sigh!

My night is cold and hard,
My day is dark and charred.
With empty dreams I keep,
Repeatedly, piteously to reap
Some new genius, some new dream,
Some new word, some new scheme,
Which will stir my soul
And challenge others with a proper role.
However, the day is eternally too short.
The projects of the night always I abort.
Once upon a time, nothing was my detour,
Attempting anything I would not demur.
Yet, all the years have passed me by,
And now am I left to think with the sit of the sigh.
Somewhere, someone knows something I cannot know.
What is it, this elusive task upon me bestowed?
Where is it, that I might be freed from my solemnity?
Is this the full extent of now and all of forever?
How do I answer? I long to live all the live-long day.
Yet, all I do is stem the tide of growing gray.