Insomnia.

Too late to-night— An aging plight does naught to bid me growth from blight, nor either kind brought to the mind; a source though I am loath to find the dwind’ling, ardent use thereof— per some eidolon from above? A sublime thought that I might claim in place of pride, in place of shame; to have and be most readily so as to sleep again. Of what could be outside this house? alone to me, and no one else of such restraint, such ignorance, ah such complaint, such wretchedness— who’d watch night rise from ground to sky while others eyes have yet to pry, too long asleep to hear the sound and watch, instead, from sky to ground; still caught in dreams full of redeem as kings with feelings crown’d. No, dreams are drugs— Awake, relapse. Mid-night is come, rife youth elapse free unto me; mine eyes to see thro’ rankled, wroughting reverie— that fill these halls with slow footfalls and leaves its scrawl upon my walls and drags me high out to the streets ‘til lithe moontide burns obsolete. O what there is outside that house, alone to me and no one else!