Insomnia
Occasionally, I taste wakeful infinity.
It creeps on me at night.
There I lie in all kinds of positions,
while sleep flies away silently, ominously,
over the rafters and out into the starless night.
Fear grips my soul,
My worries taunt
for tomorrow will come,
eyes red, bags will hang beneath the lids,
and a body rigid, stressed, and tired.
Fatigue is in my very bones.
How fragile our lives can be?
Why can't I conjure visions
out of the darkness of the night?
Even the moon went to sleep.
I count sheep,
unending fields, trains,
or gentle breezes that help sails into port.
Nothing works. I just give up,
lie back and hope in vain.
Thoughts fly, ugly at times,
I strive to remember the gentler moments,
but fail miserably. I feel faint.
I turn, I stretch, I count, I pray.
I feel like an insignificant pinpoint
in the universe's expanse.
Can't do anything but wait for dawn.
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