Wandering between the wrinkles
in the sheets
My mind chews
on the tattered rags of stress.
Vagabond, furtive, recalcitrant;
Sleep is a prey to be hunted.
Time is unsympathetic,
Intellectual and yawning,
Ensconsed in the smug repose
of easy victory.
Twisted under rumpled covers,
a pillow becomes
A battle ground; bruised and cratered
with the aftermath
of violence.
Mercenaries with advertisements
of surefire solutions
Shamelessly hawk their wares:
"Medicines; elixirs; late night tv."
All are bunk.
Each night is an adventure
with waterlogged boots
and a missing map.
Sleep, however,
is a tramp with no gumption.
Huddled at a cold fire,
Weary; slurring his words,
He confesses defeat,
Tempered by a parting shot
hurled with consummate brass.
"What took you so long?"
Peter Falkenberg Brown is passionate about writing, publishing and public speaking. He hopes that someday he can live up to his favorite motto: “Expressing God’s white-hot, transcendent love in all directions, every second of every day, creates an infinitely expanding sphere of heart.”
