Can’t sleep.
Seeking diversion.
Awaiting peace, slumber.
Hopeful for a few hours of dreams.
Restless. Anxious. Hyper-vigilant.
Over conscious of the hours ’til dawn.
Tossing. Turning. Vainly tempting rest.
Mind wandering, thoughts racing,
The witching hour passes with
An imagination running amok
With images and thoughts over-running
All vestiges of reason and lingering sanity.


Racing Thoughts

Sleep eludes me, slips through my grasp-

rapidly firing neurons wage war

against my cerebral cortex

transforming my brain into a

battleground of synaptic explosions.

Disjointed thoughts tangentially traipse

through the trenches of a fractured mind-

the rhythm of the ceiling fan matches the

throbbing and humming inside my skull

and ideas flutter and flit through my mind

like a carefree band of shadows playing tag.

An idea turns into an itch, then into a flame

that burns at my sanity until I give in to the

thoughts that will not be silent until they are

satiated and tucked in with paper and ink-

witching hour poetry pours out from the

crevasses of the mind until the burning thoughts

are satisfied that they have been properly

tended to, and at long last, may permit me rest.