Insomnia

Insomnia

 

There is that memory that you had begged

Remained unread and unsaid,

To slowly falter and unravel,

Beneath cobweb and lint,

And the heft of years spent.

But in the gray early of insomnia,

A jab arises uncalled,

A thorn of worry once forgotten,

Now near and sorrowed.

A regret or contrition unapplied,

Now late and long due solicitation.

What amends can be made,

What difference effected,

Save your own guilt?

There in the cold pre-dawn

A hare chased with no settlement,

A ghost too transitory

And still too real.

Your rest stolen now by reflection,

And no resolution is to be had.

What called to this reminiscence,

What remorse speaks in the dead dark?

Will sleep rescue you from infamy,

Or is shame your now constant companion?

In the hour before dawn,

What penitence can be had?

Will mere contrition allow your rest?

Or is it exhaustion that finally takes you?

You had thought your peace was made,

But in the too-early morn,

Your memory grows long and over-large.

Day will be here too soon.

Will you face it with a new humility,

Or will you bury your iniquity anew,

That it may sting you awake tomorrow?

Maybe you’ll deserve it.

Maybe it’s the molehill you always thought.

Who am I to say?

Try to get some sleep.

 

Cliff Lake 3/3/2023

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2023