A poem for sleepless nights

I cannot sleep.

It’s late and dark, but not quiet.
At least, the stirring in my mind is not quiet.
my questions are not quiet.

Endless problems are not quiet – but the solutions refuse to speak.

There are voices repeating arguments that all make sense – echoing like a dissonant chorus.

It’s not even beautiful like jazz music.

I find no lullaby in the unending forte of calls for freedom.

I cannot sleep.

The voices are too loud. And, I can’t always tell them apart.

I start to listen more closely, and it seems,
Down this way leads to that way, but there is an interchange and

I might have missed it – for the voices – where do they lead?

Where do they lead?

It’s not to sleep. I’ll tell you that. There is no rest within this verse.

Always melody . . . broken harmony . . . and see?

It all repeats.

It all repeats.

It all . . . I cannot sleep.

My soul repeats.
I want to sleep.
My soul release.
My soul receive.


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