Insomnia:

There’s something inherently lonely

about being the only person up and about

in the staggering quiet of the early morning

without even the sun or the moon as companion

as the rest of the world rests still.

Even the stars hide their brilliance behind sullen gray whisps of cloud ‽

Sleep is a scorned lover that evades my desires

and every effort to call her forth.

In these hours, every nightmare comes true Ṭ

Primeval thoughts skitter and stain the sulci of my brain.

When golden rays seep through the beige curtains,

the birds and their morning song will drown out my predatory thoughts.

∴ peace will come.