Tuesday, January 10, 2006

Free Form Poetry or Very Well Stated Rambling?
Insomniac.

Wandering insomnia, my eyes find not rest nor peace.
For in the evening, as it t’would be my fate,
To have drunk a drink of High Caffeine.
And now I’m afraid I cannot sleep.

Alas it was a choice to read,
Of night dwellers foul,
Of the vampyre, the werewolf,
And the reanimated dead.

And ev’ry shadow leaps and jumps,
As keen imagination peers into the darkness,
Watching and waiting.
No sleep will pass my way to-night.

To the window I head,
To seek solace and comfort
And yet the moon, over head,
Shines brighter than day,
And yet, at 2 am, no one really seems to care.

My hearing sharpened by the loss of my eyes,
Picks up too many sounds in the still,
The creak of the heating, the creak of the stair,
My mind races to know, and yet I don’t dare check.

And if sleep does arrive before the dawn,
What in sleep would find me?
Would it be dreams, or pure sleep?
Or the ever haunting nightmare.

True my eyes do burn with the strain,
Of staying awake, staying alive,
I turn on music to calm my fears,
And yet to find I have the wrong CD,
Thusly in radio I find calm.
But why is it sounding the EBS*?

Will dawn’s light find me with my eyes open?
Holding a baseball bat watching the stairwell?
Or will I doze, finding the light of noon,
(Later would be my preference),
Shining in my high windows?

Eventually tho, I find quietude,
Nestled between th’ pages of a book,
Not shall I read horror in the ev’ning.
But save the chills for noon-light,
In which the sunlight haters are kept inside.

And the caffeine was an unfortunate episode,
Alas, I found my folly too late.
Never again will I eat frozen food,
And warm myself with 16.6 mg of caffeine.

Then only the moon oppose sweet sleep.
And curtains don’t work well with my room.
I s’pose everyone must live with one problem ‘r another.
But sleep is something I’d prefer to live with.

The repose, the calm I feel,
My patience tried daily by waking.
And yet I lose control,
My mind may wander at will.
My dreams of cliffs, dungeons, and demons most foul,
Checked merely by dreams of falling asleep,

There is no rest for the weary.



*EBS: Emergency Broadcasting System


Ok, well, my english teacher asked for a fairly free form six to eight line poem. I typed two pages... I think I have too much to say about night. 's all true. I was drinking chai tea, reading dracula, and the moon was too bright.

And the dreams where you sleep just leave you more tired.

Anywho... I got soul calibur 3 today, 's good game, very fun to beat up people with a killer hula hoop

And my hands, I've decided the faces they will bear.

Psycho / Paranoid
Dead / Apathetic
Happy / Terminally Confused
Sad / Debonair


By time my friend and i'd gotten to "debonair" we'd run out of good faced.

And tomorrow I have a math meat... meet? they both look wrong. Tomorrow. yes...
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