A body worn by short exhausting days,
Its drowsy limbs relax and seek respite--
But active mind, my weary corpse betrays
And flutt’ring eyes resist the pull of night.
The tufted quilt, a heavy mound of dirt
And bed-frame marks the coffin’s murky wall
While frightful demons bent on forging doubt,
Whirl, in fiendish bouts around my skull.
This ghoulish dance is mere delusion,
And stifling crypt air, self imposed design;
My logic shouts—at arms against exclusion
from warm relief of gentle sleep divine--
But trapped beneath this ghostly mass of death
No living force can regulate my breath.
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