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Sleep seems to take a holiday that day
Leaves in its wake an insomniac
Tossing and turning begging for it to return
Please come back so these tired eyes can sleep
Let me rest in your bosom again
The night is made for sleep, for respite
Its darkness hides all that is familiar
Into objects sinister and unfamiliar
Every creak, every noise magnified
Strange games the mind starts playing
The ticking of the clock never sounded this loud before
One question he asks, like a mantra on some beads
When will I get to sleep? when will this night ever end?
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Poetry: Insomnia
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