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The Sandman
The simple sleepers of this world
Regard there gentle slumber with but a glance,
Oblivious to the time spent dreaming.
The normalcy of night blinds them.
There stories will only be written
From under the days sun rays always.
I am a ghost of the night;
Lacking the gifts of so many others.
My hours drift away in the void
Where few can hear nor see.
My adventures in the sea of blackness;
It is a place where metaphors roam
And each corner uncovers mysteries,
Whether they are real or self-prophecy.
Riddles for the children of the night
To solve or ponder till madness infects.
I wander through this wilderness
Night after night.
A self-made sandman of waking dreams
As to which only darkens allows
For such imaginations to give birth.
