Epiphanic

Once again the night belongs
To Morphean banks of drifting fog
Allied with the ghostly songs
Of inner matin monologue
Where stretching thoughts back into shape
Might be done in peace and quiet
And for awhile just escape
The madness of diurnal riot
And brains may flush away the waste
Which wakeful thoughts accumulate,
Especially when done in haste,
When we would rather lay prostrate
Before the throne of vivid dreams,
Yet without wearing nightmare's crown
Which is a slave to the extremes
That thrive within the shantytown
Of poor esteem and fearful thoughts,
Assuaged...by sonneteer booster shots!