Sleepless It’s only late at night, When the minutes are protracted That the fears hidden by daylight - The fear of dilapidation, of irreducible pain, Of loneliness and all things terminal – Drop their masks and reveal the ugliness Of Truth; that for the single man There is no truth other than That all paths lead to the eternal forest - So achingly green and familiarly dark – Where all living things retreat and wait For the certain final hour. It’s only late at night, When Silence has reclaimed its purity, That the echoes of bygone eras return, Droning regrets and protestations never-ending, Cyclical disappointments, looping heartbreaks, Rhythmic reiterations of ‘Never again!’, ‘Today is the first day…,’ and ‘Worthy I am.’ All conviction since lost, drowned in The underworld stream of mass indifference, The hungry maelstrom devouring dreams Of every manchild ever dared to Outwear the insignia of innocence. But when daylight comes