As the sky goes dark, the need for sleep
gathers upon my shoulders, but my brain wakes.
It has stories to tell me and each dream a peep
full of colors and magnificent scenes, and I fall deep
between the waves, ebbing back and forth faster than daybreaks
and my muses, they are nocturnal and creep
between the shadows, and stalk the hours that get steep.
And the minutes pile up that I stay awake,
as my muses feed me their joy, sorrow and rage in one heap.
My fingers race to capture each sentence as it seeps
between the lines of day and night, and my hands shake
with anticipation and adrenaline and I try to keep
myself together for the madness of artistry and prose reaps
every waking second, and my heart quakes
with a passion of words as each sentence weeps
from fingertips and tongue and I no longer need to fall asleep.
Poetic Trials 