Newton's 3rd Poem by Rugger Stormston

These four walls have heard it all.
The inflation of sins and depletion of innocence.
Each night I undress and shout silently of my regret.
Every article made of lead; an angry word embedded in my head for my sleeping eyes to see.
I try not to sleep, but try to rewrite history as I see fit.

Legends improvised by minute
Truth refused; only accepted as myth.

And words are whispered:
Alas,
The sun has set and the house is drained of it's manic laughter.
And in the sleeping child's bed-time book is the only place to find a happily ever after.