Insomnia Poem by Corinne Watt

Insomnia.
My dreaded enemy since childhood.
Intangible form of torture with no reason,
just clock tick ticking
turning round turning over.
My aching joints and itchy feet
that count that tick making lists
laying plans,
rehearsing tomorrow's reality scenes,
as the now moment is frittered away
banished finally to sheer surrender to
sleep.
Sweet, still, pain free.
I feel soft, warm, held in arms of peace.
Re-enacting yesterday's joys.
Awaiting spring again to be ready, refreshed, renewed.
Fearful of disturbance,
Neither victorious nor defeated but
free for a night from that invisible torture.