The Treachery of Half-Sleep

My eyes
Remained razor sharp
Despite the fog
The treachery of half-sleep

Among roaming shadows
I scoured with vigilance
Aware, of the restless world
My limbs fully, prepared for flight

My pulse climbed
At predawn’s haunting loom
Festering
Stout with memory
Swarmed by forgotten ghosts

They yearn
Mournfully
To dwell
In the arms of my present

Yet these eyes shall not dull
They cannot waver
Nor recede
Into a nightmare’s
Sweltering furnace

Guiltless Sleep

 
My dreams were feather light
Safe and sound
In the refuge
Of eras past

Fluttering carelessly
Through nightfall’s hollow void
Never sparing a sound
Of agony or strife

From the brightest flare
Timid thoughts
Were cruelly swept aside

Grinding my reveries
To a useless pulp
To the falling embers
I greet as slumber nears

A Shrine to Former Years

 
It was merely a falling flicker
The dying glimmer
I’ll carry each day

Striving to be reclaimed
By the endless pastures of old
Yields only present anguish
Unwavering miles of regret

The mind must sculpt
Its shrine to former years
To spin the threads of remorse
In each grueling instant
Of misty-eyed reeling

I have found my home
In the care of memory
To slave away hopelessly
And loop for all of my years