As patient as a graveyard, there he sits
And watches as his wife falls fast asleep
The room is cold–he presently forgets
The promises he promised he would keep
His mind is silent, calm and still as death
Epiphanies are duly held at bay
His only mantra is his shallow breath
Which falls and rises now as if to say:
To sleep, to sleep–the bed is getting warm
To sleep, to sleep–the dreams are fading fast
To sleep, to sleep–ignore the coming storm
To sleep, to sleep–the future is the past
He dies the moment that he hesitates
A man who lives is not a man who waits

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