Kauai Sunset by Laura Wambsgans.
I hate to sleep, and dreams are rare.  
  The silence is hell but cannot share  
  my misery with with anyone else.  
  They do not know what misery is:  
  or mine, at least,  
  it does not show a literary crease.  
  Happiness is gone to somewhere else, and is not free.  
  And that, or course, is misery.  
  It's been a bit transcendental really,  
  And gone beyond an erstwhile theory.  
  It is my home,  
  I hate to sleep.  
  Fides nostrum longe iter fecit.