Night Time

I have studied closely the night,
And I’ll tell you it is not beautiful.
It is not beautiful, that ugly pall that befalls the world
And all that hype about being alone and in peace is not true

You are not alone in the hours designated for somnolence
You are surrounded by your never-ending thoughts
The ones that grow ever louder, unchecked in the nighttime silence

They say the mind is a fire waiting to be lit,
Infinite in potential and magnificent
Kindly, considerately, respectfully, I call bullshit.

If the mind be truly a flame
It roars cacophonously and constantly
Driving me insane

Thoughts, half formed and malformed,
Race through my mind blindingly flashing
In a malicious mission to confuse

The mind, filling but not yet filled, with useless observations
The esoteric facts that collect like dust on a hard drive
Chocking and suffocating utile, vital calculations

Countless hours spent gaping and staring
Watching the moonlight creep across the speckled ceiling
Watching the red blinking digits go from ten to twelve to three to six and NOT CARING.

And accompanying you is Mr. Sandman who refuses to put out
So you wait and stare and pace and
Scribble maddening quantities of thoughts onto a crumpled piece of paper
Until at last you pass out.