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Poetry: Insomnia

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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