Milton's Curse

(On this last night insomnia did not allow me to sleep. The recurring image of the stone giants contained in Milton's poetry assaulted my mind. The way I found to 'take revenge' was to honor him with this poem). again a broken night... dawn of poisonous delusions eyes that refuse rest trying to keep fixed on something terse body that denies brain command maybe it's some kind of modern curse something that prevents sleep from coming as if there was a threshold of old rocky sentries equal to those created by Milton Hankins in 'Old Sentry Standing Guard' menacingly posted between the concrete of wakefulness and the dream and its shards not sleeping would be wanting to tie life and not let it grow old? this is the meaning of the craft of writing this is the power a poet can have enable the creation of the imagery and the unreal with such a strong force able to turn the verb into truth able to build a new reality or find the fountain of eternal youth