It is that static hour when the blackness festers
                            Every crack of light, in its impalpable countenance.
                            In alembic of ponderous thoughts, you unfold
                            The dissenting impressions and futures, while                                                         An affable voice whispers, time to sleep.
                            You berate this interrupting conscious reducing you to
                            The borders of the half-moon cosy frame curved beneath
                            The soft white quilt.
                            You perceive clamour outside, get up, and through glass
                            You stare out at the heliotropes whose fragrance wallows in
                            The gusts of air which swells the veil curtains around you
                            Through the slightly open window.
                            There is an eerie force that subdues all your mind’s processes
                            To nothingness,
                            When you languorously gaze at the stars whose lights,
                            You know, touch you from unreachable distances.
                            You climb on the sill, and sat there, scowl at the beauty that
                            Indolently charges your chest, the unselective spectacle which
                            Welded with so many others and still will
                            Long after you.
                            The long-dead luminaries whose twinkle showers all
                            The alive mortals.
                            Oh, such a spindly quagmire this uncountable hour!
                            This time when you hanker to impugn your tactile dimension
                            And punt yourself away
                            In gossamer yet comforting realms.
                            Somnambulism, tarry phenomenon of insensate travel,
                            Such more preferable condition now!
                            Regardless of its potentially menacing implications.
                            Less cruel, less tortuous than this muddled insomnia which
                            Demurs the value of your animate struggles.


The photo’s source

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