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, September 18, 2011

High Tide

Starting fresh
New friends at my side
A second chance
Comes at high tide
Wash away the sorrow
Regrets and mistakes
Here's a new tomorrow
One more chance to save face
What is old is now gone
Carried in by the current
Life starts anew
And I know that I've earned it



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