The path that leads to sleep is so overgrown:
Some natural un-pruned barriers trip me and I fall.
They stumble me until I’m humbled but not to sleep.
I descend to overly awake, tripping on the entire day, that just won’t go away.
Madness is watching this parade.
The more I try to move towards that oblivion,
The clearing in the jungle we call sleep,
The more I bog down along the way, with things I can never fix,
My feet held by living root systems, dragging me back to the past,
Then whip-lashing me into a future I doubt will ever exist…
Tangled in their twining, eyes open or closed it’s all the same…
I am too conscious of everything…and I’m still awake.
Hours of trekking leave me exhausted, but no closer to sleep.
Hours of imagery, half written poetry, repeated un-pleasantries
Hungry, thirsting, hoping for a cartoon bonk upon my head
Lights out….That’s All Folks!
February 1, 2019