Sleep Comes Not

It's night. Long hours before the sun receeded below the treeline. Darkness has descended; a time for rest and dreams. Perhaps a chance to escape life's pressuring realities. I can find no release. My mind finds no dreams. It roars and kicks, disturbing my body and forcing it to rise. Somewhat like a fetus awakens its mother from the womb. My eyes are stinging. Tired tears creep out from soft lids and pool in the creases under my bloodshot eyes. Sleep comes not to those whose mind never ceases. Sleep comes not to those who plan for a new day. Sleep comes not to those with lives.