Poem Hunter
VM (06/25/1982 / )


There are nights like these
When sleep refuses to come
And everything I touch reminds me of you
A novel, the remote, the pillow

Across on the wall
Your picture stares cruelly back at me
Mocking my insomnia
And I think
How happy he must be… far from me

The shadows creep, merge, mate and disintegrate
Time marches on….

My heart, my lonely heart beats with rhythmic precision
Into the empty night air
Boom, boom, boom….
A prelude, and inflection, a crescendo, a trough…
Boom, boom, boom

Tiny night things alight on my bedside lamp
And cast greater images than the insect themselves will ever attain

Sleep still refuses to come…
And morning is still hours away

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Comments (1)

A great description of something I know oh to well Good luck Ian