The Doctor's Dreams (A poem)

Even the Doctor grows tired every now and then,

And off to his bed he'll go at night,

But it's when his old mind is set off free,

That his worst memories are often revived.

The Weeping Angels come to haunt,

And he'll remind himself not to blink,

Or maybe its the cybermen,

With their incompatibility to feel a wink.

And sometimes it's the Daleks,

With their cries of "Exterminate",

And others its himself he fears,

His weaknesses and his old age.

But we can safely say,

That these dreams aren't the worst,

Because these ones, in the morning,

Will dissapear with any hurt.

No, it's the memories of his companions falling,

Dying or being left behind,

That the Doctor calls his nightmares,

And they're far more painful than yours or mine.

Because no matter he does,

Or what he aims to do,

Us stupid humans keep on dying,

Leaving him alone, it's true.

Our deaths linger like sprayed on perfume,

We can't help it, it's how we were born.

But it's torturing and tormenting him at night,

Oh, the poor Doctor, how he must be torn.

But alas, my dear Doctor,

Do not shirk away from these remembrences,

For there's more of us to save,

And many more happy times to be remembered.

A/N I do not actually know if the Doctor sleeps at night. I can't recall an episode where he has or said he hasn't so my apolagies if my information is wrong. Thank you for reading.

'Till we meet again,

~Runnergurl