The Sleeper Boy Poem by Gulliver Gimble

Crippled like an eighteenth century corner stone.
Restless and weary, this foundation has grown.
Aimless lovers, with hatred for one another.
The darkened night sleeps just below the covers.

This body, this body looks for lost puzzle pieces.
A million folds with only spiteful creases.
Three hours past midnight, three hours to go.
This body, this body, this body grows old.

It is a game one plays with one mind.
No rules to follow and only new ways to try.
Slumber and dreams are neither bought nor sold.
Long is the day when the night is so cold.

A crutch for a vine tangled with thorns.
Flowers so beautifully which no one adorns.
For at night you cannot see the path you walk.
Fresh wounds are opened for insomnia’s salt.

Careless and free like a baby’s first breath.
Another night disguised, this foe gives no rest.
There is no light and lastly no joy.
Eyes never close for the sleeper boy.