Ode To Insomnia

Bitter nights equate to some bitter morns –
A dampened sun before ‘tis e’er quite shone –
For the sleepless will grovel through the dread
Of insomnia’s repulsion from bed.
Lo, be it lack of Somnus’s mercy,
That I may suffer through a day still fresh?
Oh, vile detachment! Oh, evil unrest!
A lack of process is lack of order;
The process of one’s own functional head.

My eyes, no more blank, fascinate Dante;
Their hue like of planet Mars leaves all ‘fraid.
“But what kef did you smoulder?” they may jest;
“Say, what wild night was sent you from Bacchus?”
And to this, I riposte in bitterness –
For bitter is as bitter does, I stress –
“No, friends, I have been left to my thoughts,
My own devices; fancy flights turned banes.
For me, to sleep is a journey too plain.”