The numbers on the dial say it's time to go to sleep,
Abandoned by the cats for the warmth under the sheets,
My brain is slowing down and my spelling needs redeeming,
Only one email to send before I'm free to join them dreaming.
Yet I set the kettle boiling, excuses I am making,
A licorice tea before rest to reduce my body's aching,
Dither round, the heat pack's found, to sooth shoulders sore,
If I put my mind to it, I'll think up something more.
Things to distract me from the dilemma of knowing I must retire,
My bed, so soft, so comfy warm, singing to me like a choir,
For several hours, my sleep will be a blessed, restful doze,
Until my dreams twist into terror, destroying my repose.
How many hours will I sleep, till my heart beats fast with fear,
From nightmares prancing in my head, with their nasty, horrid leer,
I dream in stereophonic colour, with taste, texture and with scent,
Reality mixes it's memories with these nightly horrors I lament.
I've learnt to wake, to separate, these moments a nightmare gives,
to ensure I know in future days these memories have not been lived,
To sleep too soon invites return, re-dreaming repeatedly,
Thus these books, old familiar tales, are an insomniac's company.