Insomnia

Insomnia



Rock me to sleep in the eye of the storm

I don’t want to see through the walls

To the dark

Suffocation, blind dedication

To a dream that has lost its edge.



August is stealing my mind. 

Only sleep will heal the jagged scar

That lies inside my open eyes,

Counting the revolutions

Of ceiling fan blades in the night

And into the dawn.



“Peace, be still,” the Good Book says,

“and know that I am God.”

Is God within the hurricane?

Or floating in my crippled brain?

Perhaps he’s in the bitter tears

That flow so slow

Down the broken drain.



Herein lies madness.