Sleep
I'd like some.
Instead, a poem:
Sleep
Morpheus gets stoned a lot lately.
His bag of sand sits near the door
Awaiting his ever more negligent hands
Dribbling dream particulate into an untidy puddle of musings
From a small split in the sack
Caused by repeated careless thunks.
The origional Night Rider,
His mares grow flabby in the paddock
From wild oats spilled in countless slumbers
When he called in his buddy Priapus
To freelance a couple shifts.
When someone reminds him of his duty
He snaps back to cognizance with the speed only Gods possess
Grabs his external pocket of dreams
And books ass around town
Tossing grainy goodies in all directions.
I call him with the codes I've learned
When I need a good dose for myself -
"Dying friend Hydra's mean"
"Mela's turned in"
"Al's called", "Night, all" -
But I'm near the end of his route these days
And he's usually losing momentum
If he manages to make it out this far.
I can't blame him too harshly, I can empathize -
Do you want to be known as the the guy that puts EVERYONE to sleep?
Sometimes he'll send me off with a little bit of kindness,
Usually there's the glittery sands,
Once in a while there's just blunt force trauma of some kind.
But I always see the sadness in his eyes
Just before his magic claims me -
Never to die, not even for six to eight hours,
He can never be reborn at sunrise;
And immortality gains no respite
From doing unto others
What we can never do unto him.
Instead, a poem:
Sleep
Morpheus gets stoned a lot lately.
His bag of sand sits near the door
Awaiting his ever more negligent hands
Dribbling dream particulate into an untidy puddle of musings
From a small split in the sack
Caused by repeated careless thunks.
The origional Night Rider,
His mares grow flabby in the paddock
From wild oats spilled in countless slumbers
When he called in his buddy Priapus
To freelance a couple shifts.
When someone reminds him of his duty
He snaps back to cognizance with the speed only Gods possess
Grabs his external pocket of dreams
And books ass around town
Tossing grainy goodies in all directions.
I call him with the codes I've learned
When I need a good dose for myself -
"Dying friend Hydra's mean"
"Mela's turned in"
"Al's called", "Night, all" -
But I'm near the end of his route these days
And he's usually losing momentum
If he manages to make it out this far.
I can't blame him too harshly, I can empathize -
Do you want to be known as the the guy that puts EVERYONE to sleep?
Sometimes he'll send me off with a little bit of kindness,
Usually there's the glittery sands,
Once in a while there's just blunt force trauma of some kind.
But I always see the sadness in his eyes
Just before his magic claims me -
Never to die, not even for six to eight hours,
He can never be reborn at sunrise;
And immortality gains no respite
From doing unto others
What we can never do unto him.