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The tepid moon is frozen where it hangs

Behind the still and musty curtain.

The headless worm of nightmares yawns its fangs

And curls itself in sleep uncertain.

The restless soul with restless dreams make fight

And wearies wars in clouded sleep.

What haunts the sleeper must with muffled sight

In troubled slumber nightly creep.


All things begin somewhere, and I think this poem began with not being able to fall asleep. 'tis very frustrating. Then I had the vision of a sleeper, tossing and turning and sweaty in his bed, with moonlight falling on him, almost coiling around him like a worm. And so that's where this came from.


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I really like this one. There's a dreamlike quality to the images it throws up; that disconnected, not-quite-real sensation.

As someone who also has trouble sleeping, I have to say this conveys the feeling all too well.

Nicely done!



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I liked it a lot, lovely words put together beautifully. You really didn't need to explain, it does conjure the image of a restless sleeper in a darkened room.



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