Dreams Never Sleep

It is known by many names
this force that sleeps by day
strategically echoing its restless percussion by night

Buried in crumpled sheets and pounded pillow
some listen carefully
others flutter their eyelids casually
distrusting sleep's desire to have us naked
really naked

REM knows
what delta can only imagine
and theta deems unfathomable

And so it goes

Those unable to see in daytime darkness,
shutting their eyes to see in another,
become painters,
composers,
poets,
sleepers that never sleep,
becoming instead the rasp of a file,
honing words into melodious colors,
scratching with pencil,
brush,
baton,
a feast the famished soul consumes
by small bites,
minute chewing,
digesting yesterdays
into tomorrows,
allowing courses once filling
to become but appetizers
preparing anew mind's palate
for feasts yet to come.

Hunger's vision awaits,
while scraps served on tables of molten rock
carry the tasteless bland across
barren landscape once alive,
now but a rebirth of left-overs
the deserts of another murderous century
needing to dream.