There they rush again: the hours to four,
All in a quandary,
Leaving five as futile and taking flight from fancy.
Lifeless six festers among dawn silhouettes;
Mind awash;
And ill-prepared for a day’s oratory requests.
Temazepam was the committed tipple,
But they whipped that away.
Now I read, write, and lay awake completely crippled.
Perpetually imagining dreams;
Insomnia’s needy disposition dictates No Relief.
So, operating machinery whilst drowsy;
I forget to send RSVPs to Sleep’s parties.
I want to meet and greet Sleep; see what we’ve got in common,
But Insomnia meets my subconscious before me,
And tactfully turns Sleep’s
Attention.
Either that, or Insomnia wants to be my only friend.
And not to be contrary, except; it’s an absolute bully.
Insomnia’s the omniscient panic in a waking dream;
An enemy at the gates,
To Sleep’s invariably, allusive screen.
What was it Sleep had found so offensive;
To allow Insomnia’s grip to be so utterly, and
Overwhelmingly comprehensive?
prolemusings 