This is what happens when I can't sleep at night

[gwynraven]

I have read the work of poets,
Parsing out each lonely word
I have heard a voice so low it
Scarce can said to have been heard

I have seen the work of artists
Documenting world gone by
Seen the visions of my heart, flit
Out the corner of my eye

I have smelled the dark perfume
That claims to be of field and wood
I have entered strangers’ rooms
And sensed again my childhood

I have tasted masters’ cakes
While they waited, sure but shy
And been reminded once of flakes
Of snow upon my tongue, and sighed.

I have held the quilter’s work
And wrapped it twice around my shoulder
Once against what shadows lurk
And once to make me bolder.

Maybe now that that's out of my system I can get some rest.