Sleepless nights lose track of time. To stay awake is too sublime. But what day is it, or has yet past, Tis’ week’s first day, or its last? There are nights with morning’s long, Moons greeted by a robin’s song, Sunshined skies a murky blue, With stars asight, of deepest hue. Midnight’s hour is full of life, Yet midday’s noon with silence rife. Has tomorrow become today? Or do sleepless nights, mine eyes, betray? And has the present become the past? Or have sleepless hours that I’ve amassed Cursed my slumber to eternal wake, Until my fate: to sleepless break?