Insomnia a tired sun slips beneath the horizon, seeking new life to lay its gaze upon, giving itself happily to the rest of the world, smiling even, as i lay awake, a hapless victim of its shadows, red eyes invisible in the absence of light, reduced to mourning, but for whom? i remember the days, better than any night. i remember, if only to torture myself, the mornings of red and yellow, the afternoons, themselves tantamount to absolute freedom from memory, the sunset, bringing abrupt close to an unfinished story. if the feeling goes away, and certainly in time it will, it will be in vain, because, it must be understood, no gap or interval will let me forget what i saw. beauty, if only to the eyes, is beauty no less. so it has been, and so it will, and so i will remain, a hapless victim of shadows, till the end of forever, awake.