Sleep
It comes and it goes
on a schedule unbeknown,
hours passed in solitude,
awaiting the fall,
the blessed moments of
my own nonsense,
without consequence,
sprinklings of absurdity,
absorbed without memory.
When it comes in the day,
I often fight a losing war,
beside the open window,
soft sun warming or
hard rain soothing,
onwards I go,
to my merry world.
When it comes at night
I am thankful,
I am willing, surrendering,
perhaps it does not like its victims pliant,
and how I beg as time ticks on,
until pity overcomes,
those rested rightly moments
restore what little humanity
I have left.
And sometimes it rejects me,
though I’m putty in its hands,
half-conscious I become,
to the sounds and
all the senses,
and with a plea I ask once more
for it to keep me
a while longer.
Written at 5:57 am, after yet another restless night.
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