Night is a devilish harbinger, bringing
dreams and fears that infiltrate
your sleeping mind,
where they feed until
either your heart screams
for release or the dawn arrives,
a stake in the vampire thoughts that
drain the soul and foretell a doom
you perceive is always lurking out of sight
but never out of mind.
We wish each other “sweet dreams,”
as if we had the power to impose
our will on that realm, as we claim we cannot
on awake-hours, always victim to circumstance
and our actions which we recognize,
“karma,” a form of self-absolution.
Night, you understand, doesn’t give
a damn about our sleep habits,
for our thoughts are just
faint background noise
to the celestial conversation, and how
and what we dream is our delusion
which the stars and darkness will
never share, so “sleep tight,” and
“pleasant dreams” because nature
and night couldn’t give a damn anyway.