How would it be, if insomnia could steal,
A wink of happy slumber?
The stars would bloom in an autumn noon,
And turtles would fly to skies of amber.
How would it be, to sing with the breeze,
A couplet of merely three lines?
The piano would sound like the bass,
And morning appeared after the sun dives.
Why believe not, that life’s but a part,
In a whimsical play of the universe?
And water a pool, of lonesome tears,
At the horizon of unspoken fears.
So surreal it is, to learn to miss,
The pain of this wounded heart.
Today leaves us unkind, even heavily fined.
Several moons away but truly never apart.