An insomniacs poem
The turmoil of a mind refuses to stop talking at me.
Drift away…drift away…feel your toes relaxing, your legs, your hips, your arms…
My mind bounces off a celestial trampoline that sends me flying into the arms of insomnia.
My legs ache, arms feel heavy, and I am desperate for release.
The question comes at me inside a low, soft voice,
“What is the greatest achievement of your life?”
And my mind is once again roiling.
“There are so many,” I reply.
Children? Love? Holding the solidity of a book I wrote as I sobbed out my joy?
Graduating from college? Finding my dream job? Landing an office with a window?
“Your finest moments do not compare to your greatest achievement,” The voice replies.
“A place where there is no war, fear, hunger, pain, or sorrow,” I whisper. “Home.”
Some call it Nirvana, others call it heaven. What we call home matters not.
I know where I go after my Earthly clothing is no longer fit to wear.
“Please, I beg you, allow me to sleep!”
Softness replies, “It is not your time.”