The Sandman

The simple sleepers of this world

Regard there gentle slumber with but a glance,

Oblivious to the time spent dreaming.

The normalcy of night blinds them.

There stories will only be written

From under the days sun rays always.

I am a ghost of the night;

Lacking the gifts of so many others.

My hours drift away in the void

Where few can hear nor see.

My adventures in the sea of blackness;

It is a place where metaphors roam

And each corner uncovers mysteries,

Whether they are real or self-prophecy.

Riddles for the children of the night

To solve or ponder till madness infects.

I wander through this wilderness

Night after night.

A self-made sandman of waking dreams

As to which only darkens allows

For such imaginations to give birth.

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