Insomniac and a Pen

Mind wanders through

The blank darkness

Staring at

What was, what might.

Regrets and hopes

Dancing together

In unified chaos

As if the devil conspired

A concierto of silence

Playing to confuse…

And to rob

This most craved slumber,

While Time does not wait

For this sleepless dreamer.



Oh what must I do to get

This favour?

Shall a prayer console

With a peaceful vindication?

Or shall a thousand

Words of love and rhymes bring

Boredom

Then sleep?



Tomorrow awaits me

But refuses to approach.

And so I listen religiously

To the occasional clacking

Of the heater,

To the infinite tick-tocking

Of the clock,

And to the boasting

Snores of my companions.

Here, I sit

In pitch black emptiness

Waiting for ghosts and revelations.

“what was, what might”

The night is still, while

The mind rebels.



Sanity escapes---

Which shall I fear worse:

A ghost or myself?