Second Star to the Right and Straight On Till Morning

Sleep doesn't just elude, it is proficient in guerilla tactics

Oh but it's a night for all of the dreams and none of the sleep.
I am a shepherd watching the sun set as my sheep turn their backs to where the sun and land have met.
I try to count quickly, small shrinking clouds of bleets and impatient stomping of feet, their hooves leave small impressions on the landscape but that won't help me one bit.

I have a most preoccupied mind.
You've set up your encampment right in my capital, pillaged all stores and set mines, traps and ditches to try catch me.
It is now behind the most beautiful enemy lines that I find myself.
A fantasy of war, is fancy.
Two sides, vying for peace yet unable to avoid collisions and melding of hushed voice.
Treaties whispered for none to interrupt, each side testing no man's land, a stretching limb, a teasing.
I'm caught unawares on all sides I turn.
This is a passionate carpet bomb I set burn.

These are not truths, not yet, not ever perhaps.
These are passing projections i must bear awake.
Set to task, to decipher these by any means.
Sleep cannot find me, I'm too busy with my dreams.