The last vestiges of the evening are upon me,
And I feel, deep in my soul, that slumber is death.
I tighten my grip on consciousness, my blood racing.
I do not want to let myself go willingly.
Tomorrow beckons, pleads, and stipulates,
As sleep tries to lull me into an unconscious submission.
I detest this old routine and wish that I was free,
Like an owl flying below the moon but above the humdrum.
I aspire to challenge sleep and tomorrow both.
I yearn to emerge victorious in the lively night.
Let the sun’s rays reveal something new when they arrive;
One who is truly awake by nothing but his own accord.
Dear reader, I need feedback. I write for myself, but I share for the world. If this poem had an impact on you, positive or negative, I’d really like to know. Thank you.