This is in no way a poem ... these are just thoughts of a sleepless night
The clock is ticking away
It's way past the middle of the night
Eyes stay wide awake
Nothing could clear my mind.
The brain is a jumble of thoughts
Too loud for me to pay no heed
Too fuzzy to make sense of
Too bizarre to brand my own.
The clock is ticking away,
Life has a funny way of fast forwarding
The present is recollection,
The future is long-ago.
A child breathe to enjoy the now
Adolescence exist to dream of a future
Adult survive to get through the day
The elderly live to reminisce over the past.
Friendships are reflections
A clear slide to see one's self
As guiltless as the inner child
As sinister as that secret demon
Cliché: "Time cures all pains"
The label reads: balm for the soul
Caution: overuse might lead to numbness of senses.
Reality of the matter is, no matter what, it goes on.
Making no sense,
In no particular order,
That’s what insomnia does to a person
Must sleep now, system shutting down.
Over and out
© Sherine Meshad, 25 Sept. 2006