Insomnia

Midnight

but the sleep won't come.

Static

between the channels

on the bedside radio

as in some far off place

announcers tell us

what's on 
their late night minds

The city never sleeps,

they say.

Perhaps that's why

it looks so tired

most of the time.

Perhaps that's why

the urban weariness

stretches to touch me

on every 
street corner.

Red tail-lights

sketch their progress

through the neon jungle

and paint kaleidoscopes

upon my bedroom wall

and the night shift

begins.

Still the heart

but the mind fights on

with a million thoughts

cascading, colliding

as they roll,

rock and roll.

When

finally

sleep comes

I am

at last

alone.

Photo by Wonderlane on Flickr

Insomnia by Steve Wheeler was written in Plymouth, England and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

Mountains

I am told

that without love

I am a sounding brass

making noise

but no sense.

But without you

there is no brass

to sound upon.

I am told 

that if I move mountains

but have no love

I am nothing.

But the mountain of your love

has moved me

and I am something.

Photo by Empathictrust on Wikimedia Commons

Mountains by Steve Wheeler was written in Plymouth, England and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.