Islands of Sleep

A thousand oases of death scattered throughout our river;

times we delve to the core,

times we drift along the shore,

times we push away into currents of lucidity.

Untenably these islands of dry darkness mold us;

times they refresh,

times they redress,

times they elude us in our need for regress.

Intolerant of their stillness we dive for the deep;

times they will grow,

times we will slow,

times they’ll envelop us and we will not know.

Though weary of our river we still shun those tranquil grounds;

times we will win,

times we will lose,

time comes too soon we’ll not leave them again.