When It’s Time For Me To Sleep

When It’s Time For Me To Sleep

A Poem by Frederick P Samson
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A poem about that incessant ticking of a clock when you go to bed and the realisation that it may not be the noise itself that agitates but what it stands for.

"
Every night
As I'm unwinding
With the light
No longer blinding
Comes my plight
Which was residing
Out of sight
But only hiding

In the distance
I hear it creep
Though resistant
I cannot keep
As it's insistent
That I peep
So To listen
Instead of sleep

With its grinding
It does so flauntingly
As it's reminding
That it's haunting me
Forever binding
I find so dauntingly
Inflicting my mind
As it's still taunting me

Every tick
Gives me a crick
As I'm stricken by its sticks
As they click
Its like a tick
That is flicking at my wick

Every tock
It never stops
I hear it knock just so mock
Like rock
About to drop
As it locks me in these stocks

Forever turning
Never ending
As it's burning
Whist descending
No adjourning
No more pretending
That whats discerning
Is still impending

Though by the day
It's sound is drowned
But still it's prey
It hounds me down
So when I lay
Im found and bound
To here it play
It go round and round

It watches with persistence
As it stalks me with its knife
As it notches at my existence
As it chalks away my life
So it reminds me that I'm doomed
As I'm sorrowed by its chyme
So I lie in bed consumed
That my life's on borrowed time

So it is I live a life decreasingly
Every second I can't retrieve
It's hands never releasing my
As I'm beckoned without reprieve
And I'll only sit here peacefully
When it's time for me to leave
And that will be when I cease to be
So for myself for now I'll grieve

As Im hindered by its infernal cumber
As relentless as its pursuit
I've surrendered, I'm just another number
And that it's pointless to refute
And I will face my eternal slumber
With not a word of a dispute
But only when I rest in a state of umber
And I'm pushing up the routes

So until then, when the bell doth toll
Pity me, allow my torchered soul untether
Let me fill this bottomless hole
With dreams of being free to stroll forever.

© 2019 Frederick P Samson


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Added on April 24, 2019
Last Updated on April 24, 2019

Author

Frederick P Samson
Frederick P Samson

Hartlepool, United Kingdom



About
I work in the construction industry but of late have felt compelled to write. more..

Writing