Insomnia Poem by Rory Briggs

As I wander along deep sunken caverns,
Fallen from time's old hand,
Thoughts seep back,
Glazed over when
Hollow shells of hours
Pass with empty steps.

But not to sleep-Perchance to dream.
Swelling any sign of progress.
No start to a scene or two.

And when I think,
I ponder to autumn trees
In clumsy lined pews.
Sick with leaves, they cower-bare.

Untill the sightless realm
Of the awake impedes me.