Postulations of an Insomniac

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.

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