Delusions of the Insomniac

A poem about the madness that insomnia could bring forth.

Delusions of the Insomniac

The new moon peeks its way through the window

I found myself lying awake. Dead awake

Dead ...  yet awake

The smell of dreams I could not smell

And the sight of sounds turned me unwell

With difficulty I forced my hands to ring the bell

“Francesca!” I called out

No answer.

Once, twice, thrice I called, but still ... no answer

Until I remembered and recalled

As the light of the new moon, barely peeking through

Barely touching her ... soft pale face

On the surface of a canvas, flat and cold.

And ... dead

Dead as the real mistress herself

I cried, “Oh how can I forget!”

That night I recalled the night the reaper took your poor soul away

T’was the final night of the life in which I was admitted entrance

To the land of dreams

Or as my dear departed Francesca called it, “The land of life.”