By Alejandro N. Marrero 1/25/2020

The Moon’s Awful Tides by Alejandro N. Marrero

At night with the moon held high
I lay in bed in locked in battle with the night
There are evenings I’m victorious
Waking up refreshed and rather glorious
Filled with hope I make several plans
Then aim to bed early to secure their demands.
Only yearning for sleep’s rare and comforting hands.

The moon now pulling has changed the tides
Instead of sleeping it’s wakened me inside.
I lay there in defeat on a bed I hate.
It’s a lost refuge and comfort escapes.
Glancing to the floor thinking it’s a firmer chance.
Instead I’m loyal and suffer the expanse.
Not sleeping spoiling each and everyone of my plans.

At night when the moon does peak.
I douse the lights and take teas to sleep
All sweetened with honey and well steeped.
Taking a half dozen remedies to being awake.
If everything’s perfect, I need only wait.
Sadly anything can shatter the glass.
My frustrations roaring louder and coming fast.
Gifts from a hard ridden and horrible past.
Finally the sun starts to rise
That’s when people notice these tired eyes.

A moon changing shape every day of the year
Sometimes it’s cruel, other times it’s dear.
I wear my armor of teas and sedatives
Hoping for peace without the expletives
Never can I count on sleep as a friend
For as rare as it visits it still leaves in the end.
It sours my day and even my night.
Will insomnia ever be gone from this life?

The night can be amazing when you’ve slept well
Yet if you haven’t the next day is hell.
In darkness, in light, my heads not alright.
Transiently wishing for opposites to align.
My hands praying making all the signs.
A moon that keeps me up all wired.
Then daybreak comes and I’m all tired.
I tire friend’s of sporadic sleeping.
I’m kept up hearing the willows weeping.
When I measure months of battles with sleep.
I see the scale tipped further from peace.

At night with the moon held high
When everyone’s asleep just past nine.
I lay in bed in fierce battle with the night
There are evenings I’m victorious
Waking up refreshed and rather glorious
Filled with hope I‘ll work myself to the bone.
Hoping body’s exhaustions secured sleep’s loans.

Moon now pulling has changed its mind.
Like always, rising and falling, with the tides.
Instead of sleeping it’s wakened me inside.
If it wasn’t for these pills I’d probably cry.
I lay there in defeat on a bed I hate.
It’s a lost refuge and comfort always escapes.
Never can I count on sleep as a friend
For as rare as it visits it leaves in the end.
It sours my day and even my night.
Will this insomnia ever be gone from my life?