One too many sleepless nights took their tole!


Sleep, sleep

He lay there still, but seeking comfort
Weight of bags of sugar heavy on his eyes,
rain striking his window with random attack
like bubbles spitting out of a boiling couldren.

All programmes ended and literature exhausted
how could the mind be so active in such darkness!
Softest most accomodating bed
greeted with restless discomfort.

Oh for a narcotic delight..
..just to get me through the night!
for tomorrow is another day,
the demons of the dark will be ushered away.




Poetry by Chris Mitchell
Read 571 times
Written on 2007-02-08 at 12:13

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