In the warehouse of sleeping

In the dead of night
invisible men
carry my thoughts
down the corridors
of night time thinking
echoing their movements
trying to escape
my thoughts ride in coffins.
Well, so it seems
from tales of the crypts.
Meanwhile, in the reality
of mind’s dreamscape
my thoughts are lost
if not written down
to the abyss of time
that has no storage.
No light shining
as a memorial
of remembrance
just a candle
of thinking snuffed out
from thoughts burning.
Yes, in the dead of night
my thoughts like
to sleepwalk,
they never comeback,
and because you,
the reader have followed:
you maybe lost as well.