Sleep (excerpt) - Charles Anthony Slivrestri
The evening hangs beneath the moon, a silver thread on darkened dune. With closing eyes and resting head, I know that sleep is coming soon. Upon my pillow safe in bed, a thousand pictures fill my head. I cannot sleep, my mind's a-flight, and yet my limbs seem made of lead. If there are noises in the night, a frightening shadow, flickering light, as I surrender unto sleep, where clouds of dream give second sight.
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