Here is another midnight indulgence of my insctrutible thoughts that infest my sleep-laden eyes tonight..
When all these yeux dream sweet
And peace is settled upon their temples
I watch as pity is scrunched on my brow
Where an unwept longing tramples.
To be wept or to be a muse
This night is indecisive
Of its own temper
And the dying of the last light
Of a late reader of books is nulled
I lie aware of each moment gone
Where each tick of time is lulled
Silence engulfs my suffering sleep
And yet awakens a song of grief
And I am robbed of the little ease
And my muse itself, the insolent theif.
Wherefore shall I proceed
Which this awry head of mine
Therefore shall I impede
All comforts where my sleep reclines.
If not spend in slumber
Shall be testimony to
A tumultuous tale
Of the entangled stories
Upon unswept floors
Of my mind
Set afar in aimless sail.