Insomnia. I think at one point it is something we all suffer from. maybe it’s a crying baby keeping you up at night, maybe you haven’t done your homework until last minute and it STILL isn’t finished. Or maybe you’re a chronic panicer who fears all things. Today’s poem is about insomnia. The poem is called; funnily enough, insomnia. Yes.
A sound. Downstairs.
My eyes wide open
Is this the end?
No. It is the cat.
I sit in my bed,
Unsure of what to do at 2:37 in the morning
Any hope of sleep was long gone
I would be awake for some time now
My mind is a haven of ideas
Inventions, stories, songs, plans, hopes, dreams
All would be gone soon.
My notebook and pen idly sit at the other end of the room
I hear snoring. My brother.
I am envious.
The luxury of sleep is one I cannot afford
I just sit in my empty box
My creative juices flowing
No outlet to let them develop
No rest for the wicked.
The house is stationary.
I’d wish I was in another country in the light
I knew they’d all be awake
But I am too tired to wish
Quite literally, I wish for wishful thinking
I knew I’d be tired tomorrow
My body not rested, due to lack of sleep
And that annoyed me
So I closed my eyes again, hoping for the best.