Nicholas Browning

Counting Sheep

Gently dragging the finger, gratify the scripture,
Receded but not lost.
Traipsing nostalgia's views, vicissitude often skews,
From reflections that wisdom had sought.

 

Weathered hands of scribe's profession,
Embrace luminance within its fiction.
Inadequate comfort, hollow in tone,
Statues turned malform effigies.
Of revenue without nourishment;
A lullaby becomes a eulogy.

 

Decadence perennial, existence that only ruptures.
Rived bonds, calescent verse;
For that, this Orb suffers.

 

Dementia acuminates, senses deafen,
Hieroglyphs comprise the wall.
Foreign in language, nebulous inception;
Yearning to be recalled.

 

This slumber implores to halt the process by which it thinks.
Voices overlap, armistice out of question,
Sanity thrown to the brink.
Wearied spirit, inanimate life,
"They" tire of counting sheep.

Comments5

  • Fay Slimm.

    Ooooh - I can relate to this when counting sheep fails and words take centre stage - A fine poetic example of maklng the best of sleepless hours Nicholas -

  • Tristan Robert Lange

    I am the eternal insomniac I fear, and so I very much related! Great write! Best way to make use of being awake whilst the world lies in slumber! :)

  • malubotelho

    Hi Nicholas, great write. Night is a good time for me to write and I could see myself doing what you did. Great inspiration. Instead of count sheeps I whatch my sleep. It is like tricking myself saying; I don't want to sleep and concentrate on being awake. It makes me tired and sleep faster. I prefer you awake and writing though. Thanks

  • Poetic Dan

    Wow.....

  • 8 more comments

  • Cyprian Van Dyke

    Whoa, I never read a poem so educational. Tyfs! The poem was deep and yet shown in it, poetry. Very unique and a pleasure to read. Thanks for sharing again and for posting the info in your note. :)



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