It is when I wake that my mind is full of dreams. The possibilities of tomorrow. The etchings of the moment. The pondering of the past. Rested by my future. Its limitless adventure.
“No rest for the wicked” jolts me awake and inscribes itself within art. No permission requested, yet this muse is never refused. If societies sins are denied by sleep, I inevitably reap from the cyclically suppressed.
The wickedness of life is where my slumbers reside. I give morsel of sleep to those who suffer at the hands of the wicked ones. My words carve their hardship. My etchings chisel away at the inhumanity of human nature. I happily forfeit rest for the wicked as it inevitably lay’s to rests with the suppressed.
Tick tock goes the clock, tip tap goes my nap
Sleep is reaped by wicked woes widening the gap
Death finds verse as I transverse my etchings on a screen
Slumbers wane as I proclaim for kids to meet their dreams
Please share any feedback. Would love to hear what keeps you up at night?