Musings by The Poet Loriet
Insomnimaniac
Again.
Here I am again.
Awakened from a dead sleep
by my inner demons.
So many times lately.
These hours are my curse.
I try to find solace
in written words,
the tapping of my fingers
fumbling with my keyboard,
pouring my heart out
to a machine.
This machine is my life support,
the thing that keeps me breathing,
the place I go to feel the poetry.
It's the poetry that
tells the truth
when no one else understands.
I am misunderstood,
therefore I write.
Nobody knows.
Not even the shadow.
Or the shadowed.
Or the light of my life.
Days and nights blend.
Eat when hungry.
Sleep when not
tormented by
my mind, keep
the poetry alive.
And don't forget to breathe.
Lori Beal
Here I am again.
Awakened from a dead sleep
by my inner demons.
So many times lately.
These hours are my curse.
I try to find solace
in written words,
the tapping of my fingers
fumbling with my keyboard,
pouring my heart out
to a machine.
This machine is my life support,
the thing that keeps me breathing,
the place I go to feel the poetry.
It's the poetry that
tells the truth
when no one else understands.
I am misunderstood,
therefore I write.
Nobody knows.
Not even the shadow.
Or the shadowed.
Or the light of my life.
Days and nights blend.
Eat when hungry.
Sleep when not
tormented by
my mind, keep
the poetry alive.
And don't forget to breathe.
Lori Beal
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