Oh how does the world keep turning
when life itself is slowing.
When in the midst of darkness
the wind is but a whisper
in the distant corner of my mind
where the nightmares like to hide. And the thoughts kept at bay during the day rampage aimlessly at this late hour.

The ceiling Mockingly dangles the key to my freedom,
all the while so close.
If only I could rid myself from the clutches  of these sheets.
I hear the birds chirping my demise for morning has come once again
with the happiest of acclamations to pronounce the new day and
another sleepless night at end.