Poetry 'n Prose


To wake up, and to be – being wide awake –
a first sun pouring light across the lake,
a light for seeing through, not analysing;
night, past and gone, a drowned wreck fast capsizing
gives way, itself away, all compromising,
and brittle vials of dark expand and break.

But I dream of a being that can’t sleep
whose constant state is steadily aware
of all that is, and can be, anywhere.
Insomniac presence, missing you, I weep
denied in thought-knots as I watch and keep
calling for you darling, who are not there.

Across the lake a hinted half-traced face appears –
sudden in dark or light – from the last wave
of grief that beat and carved onto this grave
some message that might mock oncoming years,
or find the acceptance that may finally rest in peace.

By 67paintings

A dialectical site of poetry, painting and the odd musical excursion into the unknown.

4 replies on “Insomnia”

The words float here in this poem – sleepless, perhaps rudderless too. Then, towards the end they find a road to walk on, lightly, hopefully. I love this poem and have read it over and over.

‘Rudderless’ describes this piece perfectly. It’s true, for me at least, that seeking direction often gives way to an open expanse of nothingness. I’m learning slowly how it is possible to be OK with this, the chaos of the cosmos.

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