POETRY

Unnumbered Sheep

The Sandman is on Vacation

Anthony O'Dugan
iPoetry
Published in
2 min readMay 16, 2021

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Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash

I haven’t slept for days…

My thoughts are soft swirls of purple haze.
In the middle, a minotaur, minding a maze.
Within a labyrinth of many ways,
I rage at the mirror that reflects my gaze.

Tired torpedoes fall silently still
As attacks become naps of necessity’s thrill.
Energy arrives late, completely unfrilled;
I’ve been here before, I’m perfectly skilled.

What can be mustered when bottles run dry?
Playing with catch-up, there’s some in my eye.
I relish the chance to once again fly,
Swooping and soaring through barbequed sky.

In slumber, I’m met with endless defeat
Even to silence, I cannot retreat.
Purchasing purpose with unfresh feet
Forward I fall, to time not sweet.

And these are the things that move through my mind
When rest is weary, and sleep is unkind.
I never know what I will find
In the moments of madness that I leave behind.

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