As the fog rolls in
you cannot see the shore;
much like when
you are tired once more.
A grey-blue haze
of midnight blooms
comes rushing in;
it swiftly swoons.
You dread it coming
but avoid it, you cannot
the ship’s arrived
ties you up in a knot.
Your time has come,
the slow bells of slumber call
run away, you can try
be like running into a brick wall.
Either way, standing or sitting or lying;
the heavy curtain will fall like lead
little time left for complying,
it cares not whether you are in your bed.
Otherwise, should you wish to evade,
it will not be lead next time:
the shrill whistle of falling stone
as you draw your last breath, alone.