Monday, 26 June 2017

Awake (a poem)

It’s a curious thing, not being able to sleep
Feeling your eyelids pop open, every time you settle down in bed
Waiting for slumber to overcome you
While hearing the available hours of rest ticking away 
Marked by the metronomic melody of the bedside clock

If I could mime myself a lullaby
I would hum the wicked beats of the weary
Forcing myself to achieve a self-hypnotic trance 
Disappearing into a blissful aura of night-beach
Where I could dream of being awake

RC 26-6-17

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