Demons Dance

Insomnia, methinks, doth stink; It carts one quickly to the brink Then yanks those taunting forty winks And turns them into toss and blinks. The hell with all those leaping sheep! My thoughts on them would earn a bleep. Instead I stare, in darkness deep, As minutes into hours creep. The mind, it fills as demons dance So slumber doesn’t stand a chance, But as the daylight does advance They’re gone, without a backward glance. And then at last, I get to drowse. The lines smooth out between my brows; But obligations don’t allow The time to catch up anyhow. Another tired day will dawn, My pillow something I could pawn. I’ll greet the morning, pale and drawn And stifle yet another yawn.