Tell Me About Life

Enemy Warfare: The Siege of Night

This is the battle of writing vs. sleep because I am always deficient in both.

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Enemy Warfare: The Siege of Night


Each night Sleep first consults with me,
Politely, he asks for permission.
Of course, I negate and continue writing.

My brow creases with un-seen dreams,
Opened into such intriguing, frolicking dribbles,
They flow heedlessly across clean, white sheets.

Then, Sleep hammers harshly at my door,
I growl, "You, rude, audacious bother,
Can you never understand my need to write?

“I have to engrave these papers,” I tell him,
As the rushing current of my stories
Gallops ripplingly down new avenues of thought.

But Sleep barges in, demanding, aggressive.
My lashes battle him in confrontation.
My lids spring up and spar against his thrusts.

Valiantly, I combat each one of Sleep's lunges,
But in the end, his strength wins out,
Always, I nod, I droop, and I doze.

If only Sleep would wage war elsewhere,
Then my fingers could write volumes, and
I would be famous, instead of only fast asleep.

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