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.