Another year older, time zips past – a demented hare in this sometimes beautiful, often hellish race.
A great wave is rising – I am divided equally between making a stand, fighting, resisting
and letting it drown everything, everyone, the brave as well as the underserving.
My great love affair with words might be over. Too many times they’ve been used and abused – lies, propaganda, hysterical agendas.
And so it means that night, when it comes, brings on the usual insomnia.
The horrid fight starts, it saps any remaining strength,
eyes wide open in the dark,
unseeing, looking inwards,
where thoughts circle, twist, turn, chase away rest,
decisions made, unmade, strings of fears appearing, vanishing,
night is heavy, it shivers – this is the dark of the tomb, my mind whispers.
In the distance, something, a great sphinx enigmatic,
peace, elusive, far out of reach
every night I try I but never reach it and I know I never will.
Mornings are harsh, eyes blurry, marked, mind weary, day or night there’s nowhere to hide. And so I put on the mask, a smile, which hopefully won’t slip – in public at least – though of course it does, I’ve never been good with lies.
Tick tock, awake around the clock, how long till I break, till all life drains,
All I need is a clean sweep, all I yearn for is deep, blissful sleep.