Sleeping in Blood

Ahh
I can remember that time
So very long ago,
When nature’s second course
Would allow me to bear witness,
As I constructed a silver mirror
That reflected my every desire

I yearn to hold her fragile form,
That we might embrace in utopian silence;
My muse with a porcelain visage,
The porcelain goddess of my dreams

But alas, it had to awaken me
And tear that dream asunder,
The wicked thing will never sleep,
And never grants me a moment of slumber

The night beast has been slowly pacing
Before the fire clad hearth,
Such a brazen naysayer is he,
The wearer of once broken wings,
Purloiner of once cherished dreams

Ahh
I long to be transparent as mist
To be beyond fettering
Within briars and thorns

I long to gaze into a lunar abyss,
To glimpse that sphere unchallenged,
Perchance, it would strike me blind
And a poet of me make…

The bleakness of my nightly course
Was even bleaker when it ended,
Omnipresent is insomnia’s gaze
Upon my midnight noose

Was it by my own will, or fate
That I came to this place?
Did I make haste down well trodden paths,
Or meander through ancient forests?
Might I be answered these questions,
Or does a jester no answers receive?

I have learned many truths,
The quality of such truths
Might lead a wiser, more profound man
To believe there are no truths,
Only lies less harsh than others,
I am not so wise…

A dirge might put me to sleep,
A soft, soprano laden knell,
Or might it keep me further awake,
Casting my once porcelain goddess
Into the chasm of my fading memories?