…is all those white things
that I never caught –
that butterfly that danced
away across the garden,
that white cat that
stalked off, disdainful.
…is a pearl, dropped
in a tide pool – I lost it
as I looked for it – swirled
up sand and mud, hid it
from myself.
…is a white castle, on
a distant hill, but every path
I take doubles and twists,
leaving me here, alone.
…is a white rabbit
that I chase down endless
midnight tunnels.
…a diamond, that fell
from a ring I always wore.
I’ve searched for it,
but haven’t found it.
The insomniac’s cry. Another mix of metaphors for Bjorn at dVerse.
Ha, so fitting that I lie awake at 4am in pregnant insomnia to read this. So yeah, I hear ya!
LikeLike
Hmmm…far too familiar.
LikeLike
Nice descriptions of sleep. The stanza with the white castle is similar to some of my dreams.
LikeLike
Especially like the last stanza. Nice turn on the diamond.
LikeLike
Thanks for dropping by!
LikeLike
What lovely metaphors for an annoying happenstance!
LikeLike
I know this feeling. This is so perfect a description of insomnia.
LikeLike
Love how the title really negated the poem.. how sleep is a gem you cannot find… great to add metaphors on that one word,
LikeLike
Such a a familiar experience – which is why you’ll usually find me up and writing by 6 am!
LikeLike
Pingback: MTB — Sleep | dVerse