The wee hours have a certain siren call
Ulysses and his crew would surely know;
I make an easy mark and willing thrall
to hands that clutch while spinning fast and slow.
The quiet and the dark both draw me in
with promissory whispers of the world
they hold in store for those, like me, who sin
against our flesh and dare to leave sleep curled
upon its neural couch: a land of dreams
awakened; filled with treasures, ripe with joys,
where each creative enterprise redeems
the promise that its very birth employs.
How sorry am I then to learn the truth:
the promise of the night is rarely sooth.
Comments
Benjamin Gorman
February 1, 2012
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a start
Needs tweaking, but fun. So here's my take on insomnia, J. I rarely suffer from it truly-- times when I can't get to sleep or return to sleep once awakened in the night. I do find this odd attraction to staying up late, though.
Benjamin Gorman
February 2, 2012
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whoops
Had to correct a rhythmic violation in the second stanza. Better now.
Jennifer Dixey
February 3, 2012
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Smiles
This one is leaving me smiling. There's something about the playful rhythm of it and the way it starts to tumble over itself in the second half. Also, "willing thrall to hands that clutch while spinning fast and slow." Yup.
Benjamin Gorman
February 3, 2012
Permalink
Sonneteers unite!
I can't he'p myse'f! I'se gots to write 'em, I jes gots to!