A Genius Insomniac, A Genius Asleep (poem)

Some call it the cousin of death
Whilst others long for a lie-in;
I change my mind with every breath --
"A waste," when awake -- but lying,
I find myself in earthly bliss --
Free to explore philosophic
Fancy, whether sharp or remiss --
The joy of a life diastolic.

But what torture is sleeplessness!
Tossing, turning, thinking, yearning
Of could have beens -- true restlessness:
Foe to peace of mind and learning.
No good can come from a poor night's sleep;
Just misery and tired bones.
Always at night our fears will creep
And play sly melancholy tones.

I dread the inevitable times
That I become insomniac.
As sure as these successives rhymes
I'm proven no hypochondriac.
A mind thus wired for success
Necessitates wide eyes at night:
These whirring cogs I must suppress --
I'll save penetrative thoughts till light.

(The lights are out -- I'm whispering:
Sleepy now -- hope you're listening --
Know that genius never sleeps:
In dreams, a genius makes leaps!
A genius alone knows this:
Sleep truly is pure earthly bliss.)