I walk the empty halls at night alone In search of ghosts that haunt my restless sleep. Ten thousand nights, ten thousand walks, but none Bring peaceful rest. So late at night I creep Around the house, and search for words to write Into verses. It’s years now, as my brain Goes round in circles looking for the light Ahead that isn’t an onrushing train. It ever seems that all the good things flee As quickly as they come–no way to live. It’s hard to explain–no one else can see The pressure pushing out. I daily give The best of me; it’s all that I can do, Though every day’s a struggle to get through.