Restless

Hours pass by, the clock ticks away:
The idyllic neighborhood lulled into a soundless sleep.
The moon and stars have come out to play,
Yet you’re wide awake!

Poor little soul, plagued by sleeplessness
As you toss and turn, desperate for a wink of sleep.
Counting sheep seemed fruitless; erratic thoughts rushing to your head
A sliver of sleep caresses your cheek, only to deceive you with insomnia.
Silent groans dampen: a dejected whimper dares to leave your lips.
The moon caressed windows and shadowy curtains mock your state,
while your laundry chair looks on with pity
For all you can do is gaze at the little table clock, and silently yearn for daybreak to advance.

Who knew my fleeting insomnia could be a muse for poetry? Bonus fact: this happened last Tuesday.

This poem is dedicated to all the restless nights that plagued us at some point of our life. Hope you enjoyed it, and I’ll see ya next Monday. Until then, fellow readers!

-Silver Stone

Β© 2021, Silver Stone. All rights reserved. Don’t land yourself in hot water, be smart!

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