On the Illusions of Sleep...

Gazing at the horizon,
On a cold winter's day,
Finding no comfort,
In the place where I lay.

Shadows whisper softly,
And the mist, it creeps in,
Waiting intently,
For the end to begin.

Born of my mind,
These phantoms and sights,
From my own inner quandaries,
Do they find their might.

But feebly they linger,
As a pinprick appears,
A tunnel surrounds me,
As the end slowly nears.

The light grows intensely,
And drives the shadows afar,
Mist slips away slowly,
And I wake with a start.