Soft Escape

There is a stillness in the night
that stops all thought
I often wonder if it is supposed
to feel so sweet as I slip
underneath existence

Each morning is an agony
of renewed responsibility and expectation
awaking to find myself again confined
behind the same searching eyes
within a cumbersome prison of flesh and bone

Where is it exactly that we spend half our lives?
why does my soul seem more suited
to the ethereal landscapes of the unconscious?
why has the waking world never seemed
to hold me fully in its solid hand?

I've always looked forward to the night
to the moment I am swallowed up by
the soft oblivion behind my eyelids
even a dreamless inky darkness
to me seems simply scrumptious

I've rarely known the torment of
an agitated, incomplete night's sleep
I am equally a stranger to even a moment
of conscious rest and repose
I'm accustomed to black and white

My soul is perpetually sleepy
exhausted by the constant fires
lit within the waking world
It wants to dissipate under deep slumber
to be scattered into stardust

I can only hope that I'll be greeted
by this same strange pleasure
as I let go once more into my ultimate end
and sink beneath those familiar, dark waters
for one sublime and final time
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