Insomnia

If only the night would stop
arousing me —

if the dark was not so
filled with pinch and worry,
and the room was not so
armored and bristling —

if I could come back down to earth
and ignore how comfort is stolen
by the smallest sounds,

stop attempting to levitate
above this hard bed
to avoid the cycling through
bad sleep and horrid waking
that leads to living each day in haze —

if I could live each day in clarity and
vanish into dreams and sleep at night —

I might be considered normal,
I might feel less twitch and twinge,

I might be someone I could trust
and depend on to carry me through,

I might not need to do another odd thing
in pursuit of peace ever again,

I might not be this man,
might be another, or might not be at all,

and that keeps me up at night
wondering about how much of this
I am destined to take, supposed to take,
meant to take and was built to take
before not taking it
turns me something I am not,
robs me of the most pure bit of me.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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