Insomnia's Online Sickness

Torn light flashes from Casms of the dark,
 a fevered fantasy entwined within crazed vision,
burning sickly, the raging nightmare,
an age before sleeps gentle touch, fog bound,
warped and trapped, in a tempest of abstract thought,
here to be lost, in a sea of wide eyed staring dreams,
where music has no dancing rhythm,
and songs are silent screams,
where the shattered ghosts are real, and invisible to fact,
 in the plain sight of a mind's eye,
or clear to minds of eyes, that through yesterday's blindness truly see,
where petulant worry grows as a virulent vine,
that climbs to an indifferent sky, and past demons come calling frantically,
to be relived, and then to die, to be buried in the yard of bones,
washed  clean by worms of time, in the portal of a wanderer's last sole step,
before soul crosses it's line, as the clock stops and starts at opposing ends,
of the universal loop, that rests in the mind of a giant,
in the ocean his hands can scoop, where he drinks a world to quench his thirst,
for rest to take his pain, where the reader finally understands,
that this is just one drop of rain, in a storm that breathes fire constantly,
within one human brain, the depravity of the internet,
driving all insane, where the righteous spill their blood,
 as all that's right is slain.

David Nickle Read 22/9/16