Too Wired For Bedtime

The scratchy fog will not alight, upon the eye's shield to the night. On upward drafts of rumination, Hypnos whirls past his noble station. Like Greeks concealed inside the steed, thoughts - swords drawn - wait to be freed, upon a mind in blind delight, which had prepared for restful night. No sooner than my head was laid, those Greeks unleashed their thund'rous raid. Early to bed, Early to rise. "Never!" shout my untiring eyes. Marauding Greeks, they battle still, awakening every thought and will. Hypnos! Have you forsaken me? Like windless ship upon the sea. Set sail from land of toil and schemes, to reach the newfound shore of dreams. Stuck bobbing on an ocean that, but for the breeze, lay calm and flat. And while a calm sea does evoke, a peace in the more mundane folk. It will not carry those who aim, for distant haven o'er the main. And so I utter this eclogue, to beckon forth that scratchy fog, to lull me down in the moonlight. Happy slumbers to all, and to all a good night.