Thirteen minutes past two,
Its a dark night,
A bird awake past bedtime chirps
Somewhere out of sight
I can't sleep, so i start to write,
about my day and my thoughts,
I write about dreams and internal fights,
A few tears leave my eye.
I still can't sleep
My hand starts to ache,
So I put the pen away,
I read what I wrote,
The wind howls, a tree sways,
I still can't sleep
I stare at my ceiling and think about stars
I ponder on questions that have no answers,
I think about death, because it might not be far,
I remember how it scared me. It still does.
I still can't sleep.
I imagine life if it had been different,
I imagine myself in a battle or war,
I wonder what it must be like to live in
Olden days and lands afar
By now, Im sleepy,
But I still can't sleep.
So I create a different me,
One who's prettier and better,
She speaks loud and doesn't stammer
God, I wish I could be more like her,
I pull the sheets off my face,
And am taken by surprise,
for the sun has risen,
And there's a sudden sleep in my eyes
-
Author:
Sylva (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: June 23rd, 2026 03:58
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 11
- Users favorite of this poem: Tristan Robert Lange
Offline)
Comments2
A poetic description of insomnia and all that happens during those long hours until the sun raises. Nicely penned
Sylva, this really moved me. There is something so relatable about lying awake while the mind wanders through memories, fears, questions, dreams, and possibilities. The journey from the middle of the night to sunrise feels beautifully human. Wonderful write, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️
To be able to comment and rate this poem, you must be registered. Register here or if you are already registered, login here.