My nightly quest to find oblivion
is not unlike a tired daytime soap.
Late. Early. Drink. Don't Drink. Keep TV On.
I wake at 3:00 AM to sulk and mope.
No, I'm not one of those who need four hours.
I want my eight, and no, don't wear an Oura.
I'll lie in bed and use my rhyming powers
for sonnets on them Sodom and Gomorrah.
How strange, our brain? Not giving it a rest,
when rest is so most fervently desired?
It's not as if it doesn't know what's best,
or lacks a definition for "I'm tired."
Dear God, I want to sleep, perchance to dream!
A talking head talks changing the regime.
Author notes: image generated by author prompt to Gemini
Commenting requires a verified email and agreement to site terms.