Tuesday, 2 January 2018

In The Small Hours

Once again, I am quite wide awake,
Reading articles, because my head’s already full,
Not reading deeply, for the sake
Of gaining knowledge, growing wise,
Not gleaning among husks, for what is true
Or making some great leap
Towards a better understanding of my fellow man.
But simply (as I have no other plan,
For getting through the hours before the dawn,
And since others dream at peace within the room,
And I must a long and quiet stillness keep)
As a means of drying out my eyes,
As over brightly glowing sentences they scan,
Searching for something even slightly new.
Yet I find nothing and am soothed, by what is dull,
Despite the back lit, radiant, garish glare,
As this only serves to make the deep black-blue,
A darker shade of velvet doom and gloom,
And fits my mood: ennui and weary care.
And thus I stumble back to slumber 
And the path is sudden, steep.
Bored, my silly brain falls back to sleep.

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