All 2 entries tagged Insomnia
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March 19, 2010
Sleep is impossible,
a dream darkened hatred
that sits on the horizon,
a distant closeness.
My fingers stretch for it
even as my throat clenches in disgust,
swallowing through the nightmares
of a new day.
I must not go to sleep ---
for that means I must soon
November 19, 2008
This is a selection of poetry revolving around the theme of insomnia. I was going to place them in chronological order, but then decided to post them in order of personal preference instead.
I still haven't worked out how to stop the stanzas running together yet with this stupid line break format, so yet again the separation of one stanza from another will be marked with an x.
Sleepless nights and adrenalin haze
pass me by as title-less days,
the moon sweeps in, Triumphant arc,
but brings with it not the winsome sleep-dark.
Days and evenings merge all one together,
derelict without touch of soft eider feather.
Pills slip down at once sugar and bitter,
but have no effect on eyelid’s twitch-flicker.
The milky drink’s burning, too hot and yet cold,
then daylight’s sharp beam comes too dazzling, too bold!
Huddle up cat-like, world curling in,
numb mind receives just confusion and din.
Hammers keep beating, blows throbbing my head,
as I crawl to my rack – to that torture – my bed.
The Madness of the Daytime Sleeper
As migraine worsens
so back-ache lessens,
pain relieving fellow pain –
then senses fold into regression
and flashing lights burst on again.
Pills are eaten,
lights still flicker in my mind.
Thunder claps as brain cells weaken
and I know I must be going blind.
This is the madness of the daytime sleeper,
tales from the memory that never rests,
any minute nap’s a keeper,
but goodness knows, this can’t be best.
Asleep and drowning,
slipping into void.
The laughter clicking
in the fuzz dream-noise.
An indistinct stalker,
blurred and now blind;
I trip and I stumble,
both falling behind.
Panic now, sleep smudged,
sluggish and cold.
The winds of despair,
tear a rip-roaring hole.
Fighting through clouds now,
wade-jumping through treacle,
as I run, hide – await:
tomorrow night’s sequel.