As night becomes an extinction of the sun, <br />The battle against tiredness, has now begun. <br />Black clouds the sleeper, tars the skies, <br />Forcing the closure of disobedient eyes. <br /> <br />The alarm clock, set, to wake the dead of night, <br />Each tock clocked, ticked and right. <br />It sits redundant, a simple ornament of numbers. <br />Counting time it never slumbers. <br /> <br />Watching black through crimson sight. <br />Lying mummified, flannelette tight. <br />Wrestling covers that sap night sweat. <br />Changing sides, no comfort met. <br /> <br />Night measured in endless waves. <br />Discovering cracks that become valleys and caves. <br />Open eyes crawling round ceiling and walls. <br />Composing the transition of shadowy halls. <br /> <br />The double edged sword of sleep. <br />Bitten by the bug of numbered sheep; <br />Frustrates, keeps at bay, awake, wide. <br />Self hypnotise, in imitation dreams confide. <br /> <br />Then the chorus of dawn screeches the final laps. <br />Morning light now chases once darkened gaps. <br />Shaft light bathes this prison in chain gang stripes…. <br /> <br />For day has delivered calm to sleepless types<br /><br />Ian Bowen<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sleepless-39/
