Sanctuary

A lack of sleep burns me to ashes.
Buries and burns my calm demeanor.
I'm not only looking for rest,
I'm looking for an answer.
It really seems like I sleep amongst many,
letting them recount to me their muted chorus.
Answers I am seeking are self contrived confusion,

A blind folded child trying to grasp his closest playmate.

I think upon the time when I considered myself a gilded youth,
teaming with a naivety and ego seldom seen before.
Of dreaming of distant forests and towering trees and eager bodies.
Of being the greatest conjurer, the ultimate creator of my reality.
It seems like I slept amongst many mans definitions of me,
without them uttering one word.
So silly it seems,
the night time world so sweet in her tender whispers only to be insulted by Her.
To let her dissonant cadence disrupt a perfect sanctuary.
So holy unto itself that it bears the right to be called that.
Sometimes, at times, I think, maybe, it has lost its sanctity.
It could have been required of ancient man to have a time
to visit their own personal hell.
To live amongst the fieriest bowels of themselves.
That we need a time to paint our own torture.
Sounds too cynical, too modern maybe in that we
drown in constant beeps and rings, buzzers and whizzes!
That we are allowing ourselves to be defined by masses the suffer.
That we all must suffer.
That the "connection" dictates what goes on in our own minds.
I know the sleep will come someday.
Caressing me like she did many life times ago.
When I actually knew what tired meant.
When I actually was a man,
Blessed be God for here comes the aurora.