My mind is all a muddle, and my days
Have lost their nights to all my endless wak-
Ing, thinking, mulling over in my frayed
And frazzled brain. I think, I sigh, I pray
For revelation or for sleep, but all
I get is all the echoes, bouncing loud
Inside my head. Oh how I’d like to fall
Asleep, or find some peace, among this crowd
Which is myself and all my thoughts. Instead
I lay here, watching shadows, drift with time
Across the ceiling, waiting here in bed.
Exhausted, but unable to unwind.
Perhaps, to write will lead to dreams, and then
To sleep. Perhaps I'll lull me with this pen.