Mr. Sandman, Bring me a Dream

When dreams have given way to the abyss,
In closing like the flaming maw of hell,
There is no last, raging desperate flare,
No memories fighting not to forget themselves.

Like a light in august, the setting sun,
Longing for the lost time of a wasted life,
The last dream will be of a dying summer,
Succumbing to an autumnal twilight.

Eyes bolted shut to obscure the darkness,
Fearful form constants become surreal phosphenes,
Photographs of fantasies fay and unvisited,
Their dim light upon the death of dreams.