The late night

half lit incandescent bulbs

when sleep is synonymous 

with the detestable scum

scraped off the shoe

laying on the floor

mate under the bed

The smell of dust and cotton

intoxicating and fulfilling

the quiet, perverse satisfaction of not sleeping

when the house is silent

and the sky is dark

fails to birth the desire to 

unlock the door to let in the Sandman

But instead spawns

ten thousand unrelated musings

crawling in and out and over each other like ants

only half seen through the gauzy blanket of

nighttime tranquility

No thought ant stays still long enough to be

leisurely examined

instead each gifts the attention given it

to it's brethren

On those nights

dark corners aren't foes to be fought in

the battles in ballads

but old freinds smiling warmly

and embracing with a quiet

"How have you been? I've missed you so."

Nights when childhood toys are the

threadbare companions on journeys

through the strange lands of half remembered dreams

and long forgotton storybooks

These are the nights when the world could be conquered

philosophy written

discoveries made

if only someone did not first come knocking

with a sleepy "Do be quiet. Some of us are trying to sleep."

More goals could be accomplished than there are 

stars in the sky

or motes in the air

if only traitorous limbs did not

implore silently for respite

We are, as yet, but human, and must yeild

to the demands of corporeal form

But the mind

the mind outlasts the body

the brain

through the night

or through life

The mind-the perpetual insomniac

for even as we sleep, the mind remains active, spinning dreams

To have the staying power of our minds!

But we are human yet

We are fools who tarry with such strange insanities as sleep

Tarry here and rest a while

and sleep in the confidence that tomorrow will come

and that we again shall wake

to discover once more

the power of the planet

of the world

of ourselves.