Do not temper my ill-reason

and allow the sharpness of my tongue

to mean anything less or be unequal

to the storm of cramp that binds my legs

in the middle of moonlight favour;

for in those spasms, in those dark pities

and muted screams for fear of stirring

from any dream bestowed by Morpheus,

I feel alive, rage forces me to seek the dawn

and shake my fist in furious attachment.

I must see the dawn, for the dawn brings hope.

Ian D. Hall 2016