Sleep

3.06.14

In times of past my life was grey—

a soulless mass with little thought—

when on my pillow my head would lay,

and bring all freedom awake I sought.

My head would dream, and dream all night

such easy dreams all filled with love

and happy things—once true and right—

that when I woke would lack thereof.

Yet now I find myself reversed;

with what was once a place of rest

and liberty, I’m nightly cursed,

and fear the beating in my chest.

The dark that did my sanity keep

now causes me to fight my sleep.