Sleep?

Another sleepless night
spent ruffling sheets
& a poet's mind.

Eyes swollen
like sponges,
head pounding
from another night
of sleep's betrayal.

Do emotions fill every
poet's mind when the
sun sets?

Do thoughts scream
in every poet's head
when all is silent
after dark?

Do poet's fear sleep
because they fear never
picking up the pen again,
or is it just me?

Perhaps it is that burning
within a poet's gut,
like hot coal,
like a poem being born?

Perhaps it is that pounding
that throbs within a poet's
groin, or the courage to love
like a wound that never
heals.

So many emotions
scattered around like
stars in the sky,

None with enough light
to be alone in this world.
Ahh yes, emotions, stars & poets
would wither in the darkness if alone.

How does a poet sleep,
& dream just one night
before the sun shows itself for
another day?


~SAS~