The thought of sleep, it wages heavy war.
It weighs my eyelids down against their will.
But I do not submit to its sweet lore.
I fight for moments more to touch and feel.

Submerse myself in knowledge and the words
of authors whose great legacies urge on
and poets whose great loves still fly like birds
around this room long after lives are gone.

If I should fade to dark I’ll never know
what verse should come forth from these hands of mine.
What face and name should out of my mind grow?
What sultry grace should birth within each line?

But then, alas, my eyes begin to close.
I dream immortal thoughts of rhyme and prose.

Beautiful!

swallowed in the sea of resistance