Here is a confession, unkempt by a weary mind
Dark stars hitherto unknown
yet old batteries shall’nt hinder the hands of time
for it is these hungry words that suffice alone
Splashes of lacquer upon the weighted thought,
the incentive to lay this crowded head to sleep
Too many hearts these hands have wrought
Alas, the author longs to keep

To the naked eye the night is still
though this curse grants such curious sights
I cannot help but long to feel
the blessed kiss of rested nights
In the dancing shadows, waltzing ghosts
Lest they dissappear, I wait
The hands of time, so cruel and slow
‘Tis never early, never late

Lucid shapes of dreams contort
to form the stagnate statue of Desire
for these opened eyes shall not endorse
that which does not bring life to fire
I, for one, can testify to this pain
of being denied the most basic right
This incessant demon taunts and drains
Another arctic, arcane, sleepless night