I struggle to see through the darkness almost daily.
Effecting clear decision,
My brow creases with the thought,
Masking my precision.
A force that visits nightly,
Comes knocking oh so lightly,
Leaving the meadows of my mind,
Aghast and so unsightly.
I try to fix my turmoil,
My blood is starting to boil,
The anger building up inside,
Just like I'm biting tinfoil.
And now the light's returning,
And my brain has seized its turning,
The coolness of the morning breeze,
Seems to have stopped the burning.
But I will spend the day, sitting numb,
Knowing full well another night will come.
Line Count - 18
Poetic Traditions Poetry Contest - April 2018