Sleep beckons at the door of my lids,
An irresponsible yet involuntary surrender
Got dibs on a mortal like me.
I must journey and bid farewell even in my absenteeism.

Luring like a gold served on a platter into it's caressing bossom,
But I must stop to ponder and yet wonder at the accomplished tasks of the day,
Pricked yet numerous ones left undone
As my soul detaches to meet the monarch.

To take orders beck and call at his feet no matter how long it takes.
As a devotee I know not where my monarch takes me submissively I trail,
Oh! How elegantly frail
Even in my subconsciousness I am yet torn.

Between two worlds forn:
The living and the other peaceful bliss
Regardless I hear the clamours of utopia,
Never again will I heed the calls of insomnia,
Gross never to mention that of hypersomnia.
I follow the monarch of dusk even into a flare of somnambolism.

Jolted by this call ' wake up you will be late for work! '
Alas! I am subdued by the overpowered hands of this great monarch.

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