The Last of the Night

Extensively pensive I mused on the night,
When the blight of the sleeper slow-creeped into sight,
To blister and blast the eyes I held tight.
Oh, how I hate morning light.

So bind the blinds and follow the fight--
My respite is removing! I’ll shut in the night!
Spiteful and trite, I watch it breath bright.
Oh, how I hate, how I hate morning light.

This one's old. 2005, I think. It's a shitty poem, but I wrote it all in anapaest meter and was inordinately proud as a result. The pride endures.