Wounded Sleep

By Cliff Lake

 

Wounded Sleep

 

I might have been three or four,

When I took my first, not only scar,

And I got my first, not only ride,

In the back of a police car.

 

They called me a brave little man,

Because I bled but did not cry.

And I wish I was as brave as then,

Because every night I die…

 

Some wounds go way too deep,

Yet are not made by the knife.

Some things just send you reeling,

And the worst pain in your life,

Could be the open one you’re feeling,

When you try to sleep at night.

 

I have had my share of fights,

And I have lost a few.

But more I’ve had of sleepless nights,

And there’s little I can do.

 

No stitches can close some wounds,

They stay open to air.

And you bleed soundlessly in your room,

While you helplessly lie there…

 

Some wounds go way too deep,

Yet are not made by the knife.

Some things just send you reeling,

And the worst pain in your life,

Could be the open one you’re feeling,

When you try to sleep at night.

 

Cliff Lake 8/19/2024

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2024

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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