For some reason insomnia and its after effects seem to lend themselves to composition.

-Graveyard Shift-

Ghosts of the mills haunt this town,
dead from times of greater vitality
Phantom limbs, and gaunt, exhausted children
coughing black soot like a tail pipe, they
wander the avenues in the dreams of denizens
walking along the abandoned trolley tracks,
burried beneath the cold concrete streets,
asphalt headstones in a mausoleum of industry




-Thinly Veiled is Meaningless to the Blind-

Torn away, through the thorns
of the city of roses,
the screams of cruel steel wings
echo in my memories
The rain had stopped
and I saw beauty in the new light,
but it was a dead, graying thing,
dulled by the loss I felt
I wondered from my cramped, coach seat
if you would watch the sky for me,
your eyes misty as mine,
praying for my safe return
Were we resigned, even then
to such a long separation?
I could never read you.
We armor ourselves too well.