Unfortunately, I'm having one of those weeks where I can't think of a topic to write about. Nothing has happened that is worth sharing, and there is just a lack of inspiration and creativity on my part. But I am determined to do better at posting at least once a week. So, I'm going to try something a little different.
Recently, I have been writing random little poems in the Notes app on my phone whenever something comes to mind. I used to write poetry all the time, but writer's block got the best of me. Now, for whatever reason, the gates are slowly opening, and I have two new poems that I would love to share with you all. I figure this is better than no post at all, right? And let me know if you like these; if so, I will post more in the future!
Sleep is a Stranger
I close my eyes, and darkness is all I see.
But the rest I need seems to escape me.
The thoughts keep racing, the mind keeps going, and the movie I’m using to block it all out isn’t working.
One hour, then two, now three hours gone.
There’s nothing I can do to help this along.
Then exhaustion creeps in and holds me in its grasp, but the hero I need to save me from this has long since left.
I yearn for the days when sleep was easy. So swift and sudden and effortless.
My head hit the pillow, and out went the lights.
Just sweet serenity and restful bliss.
Time has been cruel, with schedules changing.
Nothing is constant, and my “nights” pay the price.
So please, sleep, hear my pleas, come home where you belong, and take me.
Mourning My Mornings
I used to dread the morning.
Wake up early and get ready for the day. Mornings were the end of a peaceful night’s rest.
The night was my friend. I welcomed her with open arms.
Night meant the day was over. It was time to relax, unwind, and have fun.
The darkness of night was every young person’s dream.
As I’ve grown and been consumed by the dark of night, I now pine for mornings.
The sweet chill of the morning air, the smell of fresh dew on the grass.
The silent stillness of a waking world and the beautiful colors painted in the sky by the slow-rising sun.
The birds sing the song of Good Morning to whoever will listen, and the calmness of a new day is surreal.
It takes living in the dark to appreciate the beauty of the light.
And being surrounded by the dead of night makes one dream of the life of a new morning.
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