That sleepless hunger for the night,
Those thoughts which keep me up.
Suspicious of sleep.
Will the curtains open again?
That must live, must think,
Survival staccato of insomnia thought,
That the cloying insistence of dreams
cannot stifle.
Is there time to tell the tale?
YOU ARE READING
Scribblings
PoetryWords arranged in a funny order. Poems about my view of reality and how my inner fantasy world colours it with strange tinges. I love discussions about concepts and ideas so please feel free to comment. © 2018 Brian Lynch
