Insomnia
STOP, said Harlequin to the tick-tock man
trapped in thick glass stocks smelling clean stile,
antiseptic like hospital fruit cans.
thrown in fits from violent hands, feral
leaking sand like his thoughts flow thru the cracks
of our intentions echoing peril
spending sleepless hours counting lost facts
bound to numbers with no more relevance
then worms eating dead flesh as snacks
grinding dust out of there irrelevance.
lives made of seconds, minute, hours lost
searching empty mazes for relevance
begging gods for meaning devoid of cost.
tick-tock man caged in glass of false concept
counts the moments like growing hell frost.
frozen ache of those who have never slept.
minds overflowing with harlequins dance
beating out desperate meaning in two step
keeping rhythm just to mock times advance.
tick tick ticking of seconds plays the beat
begging the clock for just another chance.
just a few more moments to feel complete
praying to walk out of this ageless trance.
dreading call out to the waking street.
the clock seems to laugh at my final glance,
as I walk away from sleeps failed romance.