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, July 8, 2011

Sleepwalker

Gliding through the soundless crowds
Passing through like air
Walking through the busy streets never time to spare
Trekking through the countryside
On the barren plains
Blocking out the world behind
Blocking out the pain

Never wondering
Never caring
Never knowing
Never hearing
Never selfish always fair
The sleepwalker, oblivious and unaware
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