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.
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