8 Hours A Night Poem by Michael Maul

As I stare at the night sky my mind wanders to a place I dare not go during waking hours.
I lied to the moon for a moments satisfaction that I will not experience again.
Death is having to live in a state of lucidity without reprieve from the horrors I have known.
As I serenade the angels of my better nature with a song of apathy which has no lyrics I am comforted by a truth known only to the universe.
Perchance to dream is the fulfillment of a misery of a thousand cries to the heavens at that most holy hour.
My only sorrow is that it will last a mere 8 hours.