Sleepless Poem by Ian Bowen

As night becomes an extinction of the sun,
The battle against tiredness, has now begun.
Black clouds the sleeper, tars the skies,
Forcing the closure of disobedient eyes.

The alarm clock, set, to wake the dead of night,
Each tock clocked, ticked and right.
It sits redundant, a simple ornament of numbers.
Counting time it never slumbers.

Watching black through crimson sight.
Lying mummified, flannelette tight.
Wrestling covers that sap night sweat.
Changing sides, no comfort met.

Night measured in endless waves.
Discovering cracks that become valleys and caves.
Open eyes crawling round ceiling and walls.
Composing the transition of shadowy halls.

The double edged sword of sleep.
Bitten by the bug of numbered sheep;
Frustrates, keeps at bay, awake, wide.
Self hypnotise, in imitation dreams confide.

Then the chorus of dawn screeches the final laps.
Morning light now chases once darkened gaps.
Shaft light bathes this prison in chain gang stripes….

For day has delivered calm to sleepless types