Is it Morning?

Is it Morning?

Sleep seems so simple in concept.
Insomnia sets in and it becomes impossible.
Awake and annoyed, to be asleep is arduous.
The mind melts and meticulously molds to memories,
Forcing ferocious feelings fleeing to and fro.
Logic loses value, while vivid visions leak out.
The time ticks and before you know it,
It’s morning.


So, this is kind of a short poem. I wrote it in early 2009 sometime, but I forgot to date it exactly... I had been sitting on it for a while as I am not at all proud of it, but decided to post it anyway to see what kind of reaction it gets. In addition, it might be a good way to see how I have progressed (or perhaps regressed in the eyes of some).

I obviously used (or overused) alliteration, and other than just trying to capture my attempts at a good night rest, it really doesn't say much -- in my opinion. That is probably why I just let it sit in my poetry files and never published it or showed it to anyone. Alas, this one hits the surface, enjoy it... or not.

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