Anthrophilpoetry

Writing is Meditation for the Bored

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Untitled (A Great Sleep)

A great sleep wells up inside me,

its waves crashing over my eyes

like the shores of the Stygian sea

whose waters are avoided by the wise.

Even breathing becomes laborious

and yawning only forces more

draught into my mouth, nauseous

and begging me to the floor.

Filed under poetry sleep stygian tired