Long Insomnia Poems
Long Insomnia Poems. Below are the most popular long Insomnia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Insomnia poems by poem length and keyword.
Thrift Store Foreshadowing
by Odin Roark
Inventory of past life inventories
Poised in dress-parade attention
Obliging his obligatory inspection,
Seeking the suit that would fit him well,
Avoiding the over-priced,
Cleaned and pressed,
Yet with frayed collar conspiracy
Luridly foisting their prominence
Beneath overhead fluorescents.
About the store,
Bathed in mist-like dust mites and hidden cobwebs,
Dummies dressed in street-window conceit,
Stood like Nutcracker soldiers
Their Mona Lisa eyes tracking his every move.
As rickety fans stirred the summer’s air,
Racks of faded dresses sashayed to and fro from hangers,
Not knowing he was of manly preference,
Even though…
Racks of shirts and ties waved
As he hurriedly sought an exit.
Dead men’s boots and shoes vied for his attention,
As sweat-stained Stetsons rolled along the floor,
Chasing him back to his slumber,
Where his time to wake meant quashing the noisy Big Boy alarm,
Following his ritual of ****, shower and shave,
And the daily venture into the real world of fear.
Sadly…
His analyst, the only known confidant, gave little credence to the dream,
Until having to identify his still body at the morgue,
Her doubt developed a bit more dream consciousness,
Insomnia becoming her constant companion.
Moonbeams reflect off the water’s edge
Reminding me that starlight reaches down
To caress my skin with a sense of regret
Knowing how the longing for contentment
Keeps me buried beneath sheets and quilts
~
Whispers of silence collect within my spirit
These are the moments that are dreaded
Flickers of gleaming rays bend to touch me
Keeping me within their grasp, like an echo
Forever sending back sentiments of restlessness
~
Anxious thoughts drift in and out of my conscious
Revealing soft ideas that promise to accept me
In spite of all the reasons my mind keeps exposing
For there are times like this when every thought
Brings with it ~ colors of ebony nightmares resonating
Sleepless - Old or New Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Carolyn Devonshire
Written and Posted on June 13, 2020
My worries and delusion set me into despair,
as the silver silhouette slowly brighten the darkening fair.
Oh gracious moon and mother of dreams,
your illusive sensuous sphere and its tangible schemes.
Moonlight you soft touch in still and everywhere,
sensing the milk of insomnia filling that crisp air.
Trees and flora fragrance are sending
aroused fertility of imagination tending.
Charms of beams quenched from stardust,
beauty of caring stories entrust.
Lunatics melodies have philosophical tragic,
orange in dark blue haunted magic.
The love unspoken the cream of fate,
creatures of shimmering dots and its bait.
Tingling motions and wish sensations under my skin,
Moons floating corona in misty still.
Divine paradox heart soul journey,
grace of space healing delivery.
Demons of ignorance dark fainting,
blemished soul in glow attainting.
Incoherence state of peace in my mind,
acknowledging the Moon tan in its kind.
On nights when sleep flees from me like a shadow scared of its own existence,
I wonder if we are cursed or blessed, we who think beyond the edges of reason,
For "bad" is too simple a word for the complexity behind our perpetually awake eyes.
We are the architects of our own mental labyrinths, builders of castles from layered thoughts,
And if you look closely, you'll see that beneath every worry lies hidden a profound form of love,
For no one loses themselves in infinite thoughts if they don't care to their soul's core about everything they touch.
At midnight, when the world sleeps, our minds race at the speed of light through parallel universes,
Constructing perfect scenarios, unraveling and reweaving the threads of reality into ideal patterns,
While seconds drip heavily in the hourglass of insomnia like mercury tears.
We want each day to be a masterpiece sculpted in ephemeral time,
Obsessed with details like painters dedicating their lives to a single painting,
Trying to capture the essence of life in the fine net of our hyperacute consciousness.
But the price of this infinite attention is heavy as lead in tired bones,
Temples pulsate under the pressure of thoughts like drums in an endless ritual,
And eyes burn from tears shed for the perfection that always slips through our fingers.
With all scenarios calculated to the last comma, with all plans woven in silk threads,
We end up exhausted, with souls heavy from unrealized dreams and bodies drained from the perpetual dance of the mind,
You, who read these lines, know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?
And yet, in this beautiful madness there exists a kernel of greatness,
Because we love life so much that we refuse to be mere spectators in our own existence,
We choose to feel every second to the marrow of our bones, to live consciously every breath.
In this hyperlucidity there is a strange and painful beauty,
In the way our mind constantly dances between reality and possibility,
In the way we refuse to accept the superficial and always seek deeper meanings.
There is beauty in you, restless thinker,
In the way you carry the universe in your mind like a precious burden,
And each thought is a star illuminating the darkness of the unknown.
Before I could walk or say my ABCs
My little heart was protected and you had the keys
It's kind of funny but I didn't know at the time
Looking back I see how you filled my spirit and brought me peace of mind
When Miss Insomnia would to keep me up and busy all night
Now, I see that it was your loving hands that held me so tight
When I was lost in the concrete jungle just trying to find my way
There you were all the time, softly saying, "I'm here; it's okay."
At last! After all these years, I'm so grateful for your mercy and grace
Sweet Serendipity with timing so perfect as we commune in this sacred place
From the very beginning, you chose me
Unknowingly, I chose you too; now my soul dwells with thee
At her fifth birthday party,
She loved tiny tales.
A bookworm smartie,
Unfurling imagination sails.
When she was older,
She could not sleep.
Her hands, a bookholder,
Instead of counting sheep.
Snuggled in bed,
With another adventure,
Hallway light behind her head,
Illuminating the treasure.
Read the classics,
And about mysteries of crime.
Keeping genre more elastic,
Enlivens the climb.
She hated suspense.
She could not wait.
She felt too tense,
Not knowing her fate.
When her own space
Was on another floor.
She still had foes to face,
Whether in or outside the door.
Now adult of age,
Read at her leisure,
Another turn of the page,
Time remains at her pleasure.
New book released,
She goes to the store,
She has to feed the beast,
Or her longing would be more.
She loves to read,
She can go somewhere new,
Wherever plots lead,
Perspective imbue.
Reality can confine us.
Books hold pages, too.
We remember thus,
To our own story be true.
To the library we go,
To read tomes for free,
Whatever words echo,
Against the reality we see.
If libraries went away,
There would be riots in the street,
Organized to say,
“Let the eyes eat.”
Why deep in the night do thoughts mimic the sky
Dark unknown sights fraught with cynical eye
Things seem burdened and heavy shut not to pry
Mourning for morning who levy stars 'fore they die
A quiet that echoes sounds downcast and alone
The riot of bygones too long past to atone
Midst of tosses and throws not last of unknown
Searching for coops so far away to be flown
Complications of this restless insomniac
Hoping to wake when the light has come back
Where heavy weight frightly shakes thrown off track
Beware restless mind state might start to unpack
What if's go unanswered by oblivious ceiling
It's blankness a bit rancid and not so appealing
Hypothetical questions in mind wide awake reeling
One of these minutes may I find restful feeling
“Abandon all hope you who enter here.”
Thus says the sign on a hell’s cavern,
According to Dante’s third “Canto”.
Poor being who doesn’t recognise
The perilous seas he’s set to swim,
Once he tasted that first colourful pill
That sends him into euphoric bliss.
For once you start, you’ll want it again
And again and nothing will stop you,
Not even if you have no funds for the pill.
Families are wrecked with worry and strife.
Drug takers are often jailed for some time.
He’ll get tired of living as death becomes a relief.
Poor parents must commit to rehab their offspring,
Very much against their bitter wish.
And if by some miracle he gets over addiction,
Hell still remains with signs of severe depression,
Plus anxiety, insomnia, and sleep apnea.
Then comes some climax and an overdose.
Families shattered and left with a few coloured pills.
I am always sleepy till I lie down
than sleep is nowhere to be found
Close my eyes and lay still
clear my mind and just chill
But slowly my eyes peek open again
insomnia seems to always win
Get up and walk the floor
yawn a little than some more
Turn on the TV and let the glow
nod me off with boring shows
Drink warm milk with honey
urge for bathroom visits not funny
Go outside and watch the moon
feeling sleepy resumes
In bed to try again
sleeplessness a nightly friend
Pillow big and fluffy
AC on to cool stuffy
Eyes heavy dozing into slumber
alarm goes off like a clack of thunder
At work in my cubicle chair
sound asleep without a care.
Nothing more intimate than sleep
wake before dawn, go downtown
prepare for tomorrow, come home from work late.
Most cities prosper undisturbed
sleeping peacefully
while the tide goes out.
Are we asleep or are we dancing,
surrounded by buildings,
a primitive fertility dance in the forest?
Sleeping in my clothes,
sleeping in my underwear,
two dead leaves, then a breeze!
Fall asleep by the river,
in front of tv,
soon I will know who I am.
In the last days you may be found sleeping in the laundry mornings,
or sitting in the holy spot
gazing at a crescent moon.
Get up early but gotta nap,
winter afternoons or summer heat
Thanatopsis, Big Comfy Couch.
Sleep in the bed next to your wife
that way when life ends
someone misses you.
That sounds harsh but we’re matter of fact
about the fact of death.
Death is most of all like sleep.
Doctor, engineer, lawyer, soldier,
writer, poet, that’s the pecking order,
get some sleep, get over it.
Not the kind of gal who’ll have sex twice
on the first date. When that happens
marriage, babies, graduations, tragedies, sleep.
Headache, surgery, through it all
there’s sleep, a haven, heaven, hovel, cave, raven,
a place to be with eyes wide open.
Don’t have a hissy fit
or case of colon cancer, get 8 hours
shuteye in contiguous array.
If not, listen to a TED talk, they like explaining things
Selected Shorts solves insomnia,
The Moth Hour, the peaceful father, mother.
Sweet pleasing Sleep!
in Hades
where the lights are always blue, gentian actually.
Every third thought doesn’t have to be about death.
Sleep together, get laid.
Sleep. How memories are made.
Sleep. In the palm at the end of the mind or on another plane.