Time Lost to Sleep

My tired disposition greets the sun
as it leaks light between thin blinds;
and now I can see that I’m tired,
but I no longer feel it—burning,
breaking down my thought process,
or trampling over my sense of time.

I’ve divorced society and nature
Like a fish that tears away from
the downward flush of the stream,
conscious of only the rush of rebellion;
I seek a purpose in darkness
when the rest of the world wants more daylight.

I’ll sleep with the moon
beneath soft cave-pillows and sheets,
carefully constructed to let me breathe
in the comfort of darkness;
We are architects, before we sleep
that host the curse of vivid dreams.

These nights are the days which we
remember, somewhat foggy in the details,
but who needs to recollect every soup and soda
when you’re happy having eaten
in the company of conversation
and friends more flesh than Christ?