On those nights when sleep runs and hides we often hear voices. We rehash our problems over and over, we talk to ourselves while we try to find dreams.

My poem deals with night and the battle for sleep, it deals with the night and what it is saying when sleep can’t be found?

Insomnia

Too tired for dreams
he nudges a dial,
listens with headphones
to voices and heartbeats
he finds between stations.

He finds it relaxing
when they squirm in the static,
tell stories of tsunamis,
the history of fire,
and prophets
withholding
dire warnings
for fear
of the laughter
if no one will listen.

He tries to find moments
of slumber, uses
fidgety fingers
to rub black
on the backs
of his eyelids.

In his false darkness
there are time
when he thinks
sleep is real,
times when his teachers
are lost in the snow.