A night of silence dulls the brain
Like murder of our consciousness.
The stain of death is on our minds
Dissolving through osmosis of the soul.

No sharp-black refining of the mind
To rapiers like the lightening
Here and gone, no time to think
Intelligence of action at the gate.

No, a dull-brown sleepiness
Creeping about as if an itching
Spread slowly across the skin:
To die without the wonder of it.