These witching hours, in their darkened silence
remind a man of his solitude.
Why sleep to dream of company,
when on waking the fragile falsehood shatters?
What sorry ropes bind misanthropes that,
during daylight, they cannot stand company,
but for it, longing are they at night?
Longing for a chest around which to drape
a loose and lonely limb
like some felled tree.
The gentle rise and fall as relaxing
as the ebb and flow of tide.
Awash with her cleansing waters.
Sleeplessness banished by the metronomic
beating of a loving heart;
keeping time on shallow breath’s lullabies.
But no such comfort exists.
Instead, I shall have to clutch sleepily
at an ethereal dream;
and hope to wish it into truth.
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