A Midnight Insomniacs "Dream" - Smoke and Caffeine

"Oh to sleep." - by the light of the moon... Alas the Midsummer moon has come and gone many, many moons ago and now... now the sky it wretched. A deep, deep darkness has consumed the night...so unnerving, one dare not close their eyes for fear of never opening them again.

"Oh to dream." - the thought, so rebellious, one gasps in surprise at the mischief of even imagining such luxury.

"No, there is no dreaming."

That ship sunk long, long ago- besieged by pirates, with pens in pin striped pants, destroying the sails they swung from with fire balls and tequila shots in hand - it's all a blur until it burns. Then there is nothing.

There is no recall after night fall, simply the deep sickening sense of regret in the mid morning... Oh yes "the hangover period", the "honey moons" bipolar brother who no one speaks of, who arrives after the party to leave a path of destruction in his wake, undoing all of the "I dos" in one devastating clean sweep and then like magic - is gone... Long gone.

An ironic anguish bestowed in the sobering realisation, that while there is no memory of what happened, the senseless destruction will be an inescapable feeling of deep shame and eternal torment. Not "remembered" but the aftermath, never forgotten.

Oh another vessel, destroyed on a maiden voyage... No longer "star crossed lovers" now mortal enemies from across the seas, likely this one resting in pieces like an aqua explosion: Stargate of the sea- "aquamation."

It was Shakespeare who said: "The course of true love never did run smooth. Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind, And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind."

Love is not just blind... No... It is stupid and senseless and so self centred when drunk on the past thieving the happier ever afters of the future. It is a truly wicked phenomena to love so deeply and so genuinely, only to implode and explode simultaneously into complete oblivion as a human being, or any creature.

"That is what love does" - it creates and destroys you a hundred times over until... You can not feel anything except empty.

There is comfort in the predictability of self sabotage. The pain feels less sharpe when it is self inflicted, and so the wounded, wonder on... trying to sleep in daylight, when the fight has been lost and fatigue has brought mercy to their souls.

This is not a peaceful sleep, they are ever vigilant, escaping the judgement and accountability of the morning sun... In an unconscious battle, preparing for the darkness soon to fall... as always... Heavy and hard, seemingly forever and then vanishing like a ninja for the next attack.

"Oh the games the night plays in the mind." Taunting it's onlookers with some captivating stars, sparkling hypnotically across the sky- as if casting a spell on the mind... Foolishly the wanderers gaze, momentarily forgetting their guard. A BLINDING FLASH! Lighting cracks across the sky like a whip across the eyes of those foolish enough to look- The moon is cold and vengeful.

An intense flood light from the sky commanding attention interrogates it's onlookers to see the damage already done. No, tonight is the moons' night, and the nights alone. A wide, crooked smile creeps across its face, as it conjures up the lunatics of the land and evokes the demons of the sea...

"Oh the games to play!" The moon sneers "These creatures, merely marionettes , blood shot eyed, dehydrated, desserts of life forms, in a sleep deprived super of fatigued stupidity. How worthless their existence has become. Glued to screens, to be told what to think and how to feel- they died long ago. Their body exists but for less and less time as supply is demand and this world demands the supply so they dig themselves into their graves"

"Lord, what fools these mortals be!''

The moon marvels from its place of ultimate power and unbridled judgement: "These creatures, so cruel their existence is: mindlessly, they stumble and scramble between cups of coffee and cigarettes - aimlessly wandering from appliance to upholstered surface.- tragic."

Alas... The moon knows these beings fear the night sky that he commands... He feeds off this energy and salivates with anticipation as night fall approaches... He hears their whimpers and longing for release: "Oh to dream." Nearly giggling as he whispers in their ear "YOU WILL NEVER SLEEP AGAIN!"

This sleep deprived state, A cocktail of caffeine, sugar and stimulants, is simply to avoid a sleep that evades them with no peace in the snippets of unconscious they steal from sheer exhaustion.

They lye down, begging for relief and a release from this hell... Eternal mindless torment - Sold on snake oil promising: "Ignorance would be blissful." How they complied like lambs to the slaughter house, and my look at them now.

They complied and conformed with a de-education program, leeching "free thought" and "free speech" from their minds until all that was left was this shell. However, the emptiness ... That is what they were not warned of.

Eternal anguish without the skills or sense to even begin filling this void.

"Oh to dream" an escape from reality in the hope of igniting some sense of purpose, of passion, of pleasure...

"Dare not even think to dream!" The moon bellows across the sky, in a ferocious crack of thunder, shaking the earth and everything that exists between them.

They have learned, these mere mortals, not to expose themselves to such vulnerability. How pathetic they are to lye down, almost whimpering, pleading for a sleep that will never come.

The more desperate and fatigued they are, the more energy the darkness of the night feeds off, gorging itself on the last hope they have left... 'til it is all but drained. Sleep is distant memory of a life no longer worth living.

They, the mortals, like there, lifeless, eyes wide: they know they are being ravaged by the night alas, this is their reality. They know nothing else and nothing else will know of them. This darkness, like a dram of poison, disburses itself all through their veins.- like iced water. They shiver, their body reminding them: "There is no release from this game."

As echoes of Shakespeare whisper to warn the darkness of the dawn: "If we shadows have offended’ ... The darkness slips away into the cracks of day break- the damage done will never be mended. As the moon slides out of sight for another day, he smirks to himself. Greedily indulging in the delights of his recent conquests: "I'm an ass."

A resonating line, that echoes over time, of a long since gone poet, rolling in his grave at the crass deposits of shreds of his sonnets. And so the legacy of an ancient era remains eternal, in a world where nothing is treasured, everything is trashed and few have the courage or freedom to speak freely without fear of judgement from the judges, jurors or executioners and their serpents tongues.

There are no apologies for a truth told or a story sold of a New World of any order.