Insomnia

Insomnia.

The nervous fingers of the nascent sun
Cautiously explore the shadowy landscape
With the hesitant touch of a somnolent pianist,
Playing some forgotten tune
Rediscovered in his waking dream.
For myself, I watch again, as I always watch
Whilst this daily tableau plays another encore
Before my bloodshot, complaining eyes,
The final act of a progressive drama
Begun as the children said their goodnights
And my beloved stirred from her chair-borne dozing
Before a TV show, long since forgotten,
A half-written letter slipping from her lap,
‘Don’t be long, you need your rest
You’re looking so worn out’
I kiss her cheek, breathe in the scent of her tousled hair,
Bid her sweet dreams and return to the embrace
Of my favourite chair, a constant oasis of maternal comfort
In a wasteland of perpetual angst and inner turmoil.

If I could see the problem, name the beast,
The serpent, inextricably coiled and threaded
Through the warp and weft of my daily struggle,
This nameless, unseen menace that robs me of slumber,
If I could give a face to this veiled intruder
Who plunders my thoughts and stalks my existence,
Then, I could resist its nightly violation of my reality,
Devise some stratagem to put it to flight.
But for now I sit, hour upon hour, in meek acceptance,
Sipping the cold remains of a once warming cup of Earl Gray,
Surrounded by my stoic companions,
The sleeping dog, the old mantle-clock,
The wind-chime outside on the porch,
They give me some measure of nocturnal solace
Amid the clamor of demons crowding my mind.
Slowly, as the sunlight spreads like honey across the crusty, toasted earth,
The world stirs again and the night, for now, is a memory,
Fresh-faced children appear blinking from their beds,
‘Did you sleep well Dad? You need a shave’
I smile and agree, I’ve seen better days.