What becomes of a stolen soul
One left to weep with no console
Or shoulder near to rest upon
to cry a cold tear for will be gone
To only face alone its chilly night
Flood the dark with one’s only light
No magic pill to cure the grief
Nor inter-strength to catch the thief
DSS
Posted first: February 26, 2014
I was told by my friend Carl about the Sleepyman
The long legged Sleepyman, 2 AM slumber preacher
Wide awake provider of the thousands of fence jumping sheep
Planter of sequential thought patterns
and soother of unpleasant dreams
He works nights, the 11 to 7 shift
When we feel the urge to toss and turn he’s the guy prodding us
He’s where the blankets and sheets go when we feel too hot or cold
The guy that messes up our hair and imprints wrinkles in our face
He laughs as he works but not too loud.
The Sleepyman, Shhhh! I think I see his shadow.
DSS
DistantShipSmoke 