Illusive

It's four am and there is no place that I want to be
other than the land of nod drifting among the stars.
Instead I am lying in my bed glaring at the clock
that taunts me with its flickering red numbers.
The fan turns back and forth, humming a lazy tune
And yet sleep is far from my mind.
Instead images walk across the walls of my mind
Echoing in that crowded empty space where
Dreams are born.

November 6, 2002