Night and my eyes bright

Like a guardman’s torch

Night, heavy with darkness

Laden with new rain

But my mind is drained

Sapped by old thoughts

That  crawl from silent places.

 

Wrapped in bed sheets

Around me tightly wound

Still my bones cold.

 

Night’s spell is bold

In my mind prod

And terrible dreams mould.

 

Night is the market

Where my thoughts haggle

Eager to ride in my basket.

 

Night is the market where

I stand over wares

Urging me to buy

When I would rather not.

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