Looking for the White Flag
A poem about insomnia
Published in
Feb 15, 2021
I linger in my bed of penitence,
glued by repetitive thoughts
that hang from every strand of hair.
Ideas and images sting through my scalp
in a chaotic buzz, no one hears but me.
My overgrown body aches,
just as Gulliver’s might have ached
as he laid on 600 small beds sewn together.
I open my eyes
looking for the white flag
that can stop the fight.
I am here, in the darkness,
focusing on the present in a pointless attempt to escape it.
There is no white flag, just some white sheets
twisted shamelessly by my side.
They look like my shed body,
finally finding its rest.
In response to the prompt “insomnia” by J.D. Harms
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