Sonnet 780.52 – Insomnia Disorder

IMG_0379  Sonnet 780.52

 

 

Why am I and who made me the watchman

Over this parody of an estate,

This mockery of a castle.  The ashcan

Glows and grows heavy.  I sit, puff and wait

For rest to find its way into this house

Of long aching shingles, bone creaking beams

And haze scratched windows that peeling paint shrouds.

With a dry grasp on the gate of my dreams

This dreamless sky won’t wait for me to sleep

As first indigo then azure break the hold

Of the stars and the night’s all numbered sheep

That scatter in the dawn’s weary rust and gold.

This unwanted vigil miserably kept

To no satisfaction.  I wish I had slept.

 

 

Insomnia Disorder

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