My Santiago

Ode to the sleep less

Three nights, Tossing and turning

on the waves of wakefulness, And now he dreads the time,

The pantomime of clean sheets, Allure of rest

and routines of sleep, All designed to deceive, To make him weep, Break his heart as he lays in darkness deep, setting his life apart

with pounding pulse and system in overdrive, Machinations stifling His will to survive, He is more awake, more refreshed, He seems to thrive,

on this meagre quota of pretence; And he questions, “How can this be?” “What is it with me? So awake, Yet so tired” And, he is!

Till the dam breaks On that one glorious night, And he drifts from wake to sleep,

Not sensing more blight, The wellspring from deep within, but full well feeling when he wakes, - Hours passed - The quieted torment of his brain,

And tastes relief in mind, Eyes, body, feeling sane, offering a silent, non-believer’s prayer to God above, For this gift, of a kind.