To the dreamless
What of those for whom the
evanescent dreamscape of sleep
is not easily grasped?
Those who with no kind
thought or shepherd’s fascination
can quell the mind’s turbulence?
For some, no serendipitous flights
through the ether of fantasy
are harbored in the dusky eve;
Rather, the darkness is lit just so,
that the fiery orbs of heaven
lend not solace but vexation.
Potential comfort of wrapping’s warmth
cannot prevail against the chill
born of emotive pursuits,
And behind feigned placidity
of slumbrous eyes reigns
the rippling of tribulation.
But ’til that time when black of night
might eclipse raging intellect
with the light of unconscious rapture,
The question remains, firm
as the infirmity of this circumstance:
what relief may I find?
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