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

Sunday, June 19, 2011

Summer

Adrift on 1,000 blades of grass
The best time to remember the past
One or two trips down memory lane
The sun on my brow
And the summer rain

Walk to the water
Toes in the sand
Stand next to the breeze
Hand in hand
Spend my time
On whatever works
Close my eyes
As Autumn lurks
In the corners of my daydreams
It sits there quietly
Accompanied by winter
They wake me from reverie

Interestingly enough
I stop and smile
A glimpse of two friends
I haven't seen in a while
It's nice to know
They're on their way
But for now
I'll just enjoy this summer's day

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