Lullaby

Shall I stay or go
Through the door?
Will the pen to flow
Watch the stars?
Sleep's a chore

The moon is growing cold
It hangs like a sliver of tin

How do our dreams unfold?
And why are my bones feeling thin?

I watch my pen as though
My fingers could shatter like icicles
And before my eyes
Lie glittering and useless on a field of snow