Sonnet I, or Perpetual Night Owl

Below the silver crest upon the sky,
When sleep becomes a distant light of hope,
Despite how ponderous become my eyes,
Helpless am I to find some means to cope. 

Made of stardust and comets, my mind is
Rife with sundry thoughts and active delight.
Sun and stars, equal parts of time bought, ‘tis
Locked in fierce battle for endless love rites   

The ceaseless ticking of hands do beguile;
The past is present and the present past.
My future self is working all the while,
And at night, the morrow comes far too fast. 

Night gives way to clear skies that eulogize
And so I lay my head at the sunrise.