how do men ever fall asleep at night?

the sunlight breathes through the clouds 

that which was filtered between the darkness.

great men have grown beards and stood up tall,
let their hair sweep past their shoulders
and sipped from cups of gold.
silk has graced their backs
and iron has peirced their chests.

what canopy is lain across
success's weary face at night?
eyes rolled back with superstitious fear?
knights in armor and clanging breastplates,
damsels and courtesans with braided locks?
folklore and bloody war,
writhing unmerciful torture?

do dragons or maidens knock on the eyelids of over expended sleep?
can feathers freely trace their sketches on the wind,
or do they frantically leap between the howling gales in twisted minds?

at the end of the day the minutes have written themselves into hard bound records.
history's threads are sewn to every strand of hair,
and every letter their tongues had vomitted
are splattered on the spiraled slide reel,
tacked to the backs of their quivering pupils
as they fall into sleep.

scribes scratch inside bursting skulls.
how do men ever fall asleep at night?