Sleepless

 

 

Sleepless

One night exhausts another,
layering sheets and blankets,
wrinkles and folds. Oh, the
body wants to still the mind,
and shedding this weight,
float freely through the night.
Your memory of sleep’s touch
withers as you lie there,
absorbing the fan’s pattern.
How wonderful, then, to finally
drift across the room and settle
in that relaxed corner, among the
cobwebs and shadows and those
frustrated hours now set aside.

 

“Sleepless: first appeared here in October 2017.

 

 

15 thoughts on “Sleepless

  1. A great poem in which insomnia is been described at its best. Isn’t it weird how ‘sleep’ could be someone’s nickname as a kid, and that nick turns into ‘sleepless’ as an adult?
    Things of life usually rob us of our sound sleep as we grow older, I suppose.

    Liked by 1 person

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