When sleep protrudes beyond my eyes,
It blurs the waking world I see.
It causes me to fantasize
And in the world, I cease to be
Much more than motes upon the breeze,
Some solar particles so small
They come and go just when they please
And no one notices at all.
This sleep, it makes me seem a fool.
It deadens all my words and wit.
It bids my fevered mind to cool.
I must confess, I'm glad that it
Is ever by my waking side,
A hand upon my shoulder blades
To call me when my day has died
And pull me from my empty grades.
To sleep has been a luxury
Not meant for you nor meant for me
But for the world to find its rest
In silence and in loneliness.
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