are all the eyes stopped up by sleep
where are the hands that speak epics in the night
are they sculpting castles from cloudstuffs
or dancing aloft on silvered wings
.
songs written in the night
fall on deaf ears
as loved ones slumber
and the insomniac contemplates an end to dreams
.
grab hold of tomorrow
for all to often that is all that gets you through the day
and grab hold of fading tomorrows
and make them brilliant yesterdays
.
tonight has too much anticipation to find a bed
and yet cruel time slowly dulls eyes