The book is almost finished; I look up to see the time, eight o’ clock and I snuggle into the pillow.

Acceptance of dread seems almost fatal. The reverie of the words read,

Try a chase at the hands of the clock, in utter desperation; the final piece of will is lost.

Cold toes at the warm blanket’s edge, carefully clench further and await my fate.

Hands in measures frantic, try to stitch clothes of serenity around the agitated heart.

Eyes are shut yet a million colors dance cherishing the glare of the last light.

And then… Lights out…

Blind eyes in manner futile, arrange for a shade under the velveteen cloth.

Yesterday I had a torch but it is lost now. Into the black of faceless noise

And of the empty rooms, light fades and abruptly the blanket feels too small for my tiny limbs.

Sweat echoes the chillness of the dark. Wet hair, wet nose in a very dry room

A loch-ness monster, ogre or some tunic men cry in the croaks of crickets and owls.

A mosquito hums above my head, its wings sometimes in little battles,

Victor over the prudent ticking in the clock

I try to sleep the hour but some tiny, grotesque figment still keeps my lids closed,

So much so that in blindness utter and closed vision,

All my senses captive to imminent peace thunderously break free,

And hover above the Serengeti of my pain, fear and will.

There they catch in awe terrific, the timeless array of blurred fables,

Of deeds done horrific, of slow names whispered in the freezing wind

But again that creak! Oh the strides are near! In this great grave,

I wait for my epitaph.

This strangeness slowly in my bosom begins to giggle. Very minutely oh! But very surely,

It blows such a rhyme as a shadow moves before my dreaded eyes.

At the minute, the sounds complete, vanquish into an abyss,

Leaving me, in a stillness of a peerless silence,

And then…I see lights…

Upon the vision first, a peaceful form

With a book held, sleeps forever, in-front of me.