A dot on the TV screen
Disappearing into infinity,
The lights blinking out.
4am, insomnia rules.
Outside the closed curtain
The fox roams the street alone
As the approaching dawn
Creeps closer. The night time is ending
A new day is descending.
Skeletal hands squeeze tighter
Around the throat of the world,
The dark breathes its last.
Fox scuttles away for the shelter of the shadows
A nocturnal creature immune to the lure
Of the beckoning day.
The great pretending that awaits
My sleepless body.
I think of the fox asleep in her den
As I splash ice water onto my face
Washing away the pretence of sleep from my eyes.
How happy for her
To escape into the earth
Away from the pain exposed
To the scrutiny of the sun.
The make-believe world of the insomniac
Of having to say “I’m okay”, when I’m not.
When I know if I could only sleep
There’d be a chance I could dream this pain away.
© 2020 | Frank Regan, All rights reserved.
Originally Published 9 September 2016
Made of sticks and stones 
Ahh… I once dealt with insomnia, in the past. Went 4 nights, at one point, with no sleep.
If not that, I see your poem as a metaphorical vision of “the night” being more realistic than “the day”. If so, I love that, too.
It is well-written. Sleep is needed to escape. Though, in facing daylight, we are sometimes burned.
Well done. 🙂
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Reblogged this on Made of sticks and stones and commented:
A poem of the restless hours
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