Sleep

And surges of the storm came and gave, I altered my place in bed, but to no avail.

It was in my head, the storm.

There was no escape in the quiet of the night.

Tender sleep was elsewhere when storms roiled within my skull. In the dark caves of dreams, my thoughts were delving, insidious, snakes of terror.

There was never a polite night of rest. Sleep was halved with an axe of nightmare in torrents of unpalatable dread.

Raucous cause was within me and no escape was the present. I traveled in vicious intonations until my words where horse and drawn.

Still, why do my dreams rot into nightmare? I want only good for man and me. But, tender wants, I suppose, are what they perceive as poison, and so, the drill continues.

My oasis sits on one side of the animal. The truth lies near to me too. I’ll sleep again tonight, and try to steer near them both. But, the fear of losing my way, will surely be a nightmare.

Lucky for me, there is always wake, in the wake of sleep. A warm wish of what can be. This always wicks within me, before I sleep again. And wake.

GJH 10