Journal

Insomniac's Journal

Words birthed in the internal

His subconscious' dunk-tank

These words remained unranked

Articulate the contemplations

Of these waking frustrations

Pen in hand

Sleep be damned

These are the greatest thoughts in the land

But why do they come at 4 in the morning

Must write them down

And heed the warning

His memory won't serve him as well when he wakes

If only he knew what was at stake

Words, Words, and more still left to come

Cannot stop till he sees the sun

Sunken eyes

Blood shot red

Sleep finally comes to the walking dead

Friday, June 17, 2011

Chasing The Rain

17 dreams of steam
Evaporate before his eyes
Depression follows closely
And he's left to sit and sigh
How could he miss his chance
He let it slip away
Opportunities are fleeting
There's nothing left to say

Now he's storm chasin'
With wishful expectations
To get back what he lost
Wait for precipitation
As the rain comes
And bathes him in its mercy
A second chance is given
To a fool unworthy

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