It's midnight.
Yet thoughts are still in motion
And my eyes are still glued to sight.
Resting is no option.

I am tossing and turning.
My head is aching
And my heart is bleeding.
I cannot cry, my well is dry.

I cannot find comfort in my bed,
It's like it's made of wood, only wood.
My pillow is stiff, hurting my neck and head so bad.
I cannot feel the cotton to easy my mood.

Reaching for a pen and paper.
Thoughts and words just diverge.
I wish I was a painter,
For in painting my thoughts might converge.

by Ntando.B Da poet

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