Night Sweats

The landscape changes,
a thing of rabbit holes,
of mysterious storms,
of faces like dice,
a new game with each roll,
a hall of mirrors and whispers and calliopes
playing dirges in the night,
discordant and unsettling,
daring you to dance.

Breath is hard here,
something you force,
something you exert your will
to find and claim and calm.
The chaos dogs you.
The ground under your feet shifts.
Old walls fall.
New walls rise where once there were open vistas.
Sirens and sorcerers abound.

Is the world mad?
Are you mad?
Are we all mad?
Is it fact or fiction?
Do the demons have teeth
or are they things of fog and black faith?

Late in the night you reach out from the covers
and find her close.
The world slows to the rythmn of her breath
and you find sleep
at last.

About this poem. 

An odd kind of love poem. But I bet I am not the only one who has been there

Tom