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The Cruellest Illness... Denied Access to my own dreams
Contributed by
cherryamber
on
Friday, 15th June 2012 @ 12:21:36 AM in AEST
Topic:
insomniac
|
outside the window. it's cold.
its getting so cold at night...
rubbing the sleep out of my eyes
but my bones didn't get any
dreams last night
instead I lay staring
into the scenery outside
and felt that usual nausea
when it was morning light
as all four seasons pass once more
i feel every flower bloom
and the winter aches and sores
and in summer the nights don't stay long
daylight wakes up early
But it never rises before me
then in spring the clock winds back
i think i know what they call me
an ...insomniac?
its cherry blossom season, its come once again
The buried bodies under them...
Their blood makes them ruby red
and my bottles of empty wine,
my sanity, my control,my medicine for the night
And i'll swallow myself sick
To take the loneliness away
Because in the night it hurts..
and the cruelty of lying alone;
well, it couldn't get much worse
She's full moon once again
Luna, she's so pretty
Through these hazy darkened hours
She is my only company
But a part of her is always hidden away
The moon likes secrets
And i've confessed all i can say
But hers...she keeps quiet
She's more of a listener, that way
'cause when it's time to close your eyes
my broken mind just cannot find
a dream to hold onto, and let me try
to give my tired organs a break from life
and theres voices screaming
But i'm beyond the point of feeling
And when i was young and evening came
there was a prayer my mother would say
...as I lay you down to sleep
I Pray the lord your soul to keep
and now my soul; is tired and lost
and God can't care for it
The sickness is a lock
The body; its immunity
It doesn't serve you well
All the prescriptions in the world
Can't save your mind from itself
with every night that passes
my mind cops another contusion
every slight glimmer of hope -
doctors, pills the rest
it's only another illusion
I've read Sylvia Plath 'til my eyes burn red
and finished too many bottles to rest
my weary head
and the tremor, the sadness,
the emptiness inside
confusion, and lonliness
it's eating me alive
when sleep is nowhere to be found
the clock gets louder; it's torture!
That sound.
A sickness so cruel, when you're not allowed
to watch your own dreams
A prison of mindlessness,
Never really awake
Never really asleep.
cherryamber, PLEASE: To help keep this site INTERACTIVE, please read and comment on at least 1 poem for each one you submit.
Copyright ©
cherryamber
... [
2012-06-15 00:21:36]
(Date/Time posted on
site)
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Re: The Cruellest Illness... Denied Access to my own dreams
(User Rating: 1 )
by Former_Member on
Friday, 15th June 2012 @ 12:34:50 AM AEST
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a Message)
|
O M G!!!! This poem is ***** awesome! Been there, done that and you have captured that with intense reality!
Thank you very much for a great read and  to YPDC.
Tim
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Re: The Cruellest Illness... Denied Access to my own dreams
(User Rating: 1 )
by Domination on
Friday, 15th June 2012 @ 01:43:36 AM AEST
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a Message)
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| Your poem was really good! you made me feel what you were feeling. it was also short and sweet. Brooding, dreary, long poems, make me look the other way! Good job! |
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Re: The Cruellest Illness... Denied Access to my own dreams
(User Rating: 1 )
by doug on
Saturday, 16th June 2012 @ 07:08:18 PM AEST
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Wonderful!!! I love the first and fourth stanzas.
I'm one of those who is in love with the moon and cold weather. When I was younger I would always be up until 3 or 4 in the morning so I know what you mean though I don't know if it was because I could'nt sleep or that I just loved the night. You express yourself well and I completely enjoyed reading this... and Plath.... who can read her without being in awe and full of inspiration. Though hopefully not the kind of inspiration that makes one fond of inspecting the insides of ones kitchen appliances. haha.
Poor girl... she was such a huge talent... as are you . truly , doug |
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Re: The Cruellest Illness... Denied Access to my own dreams
(User Rating: 1 )
by outsider on
Wednesday, 20th June 2012 @ 12:50:12 AM AEST
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Splendid write. Really.
Just an aside thought, sometimes i wonder just how much Sylvia Plath was influenced by Ted Hughes and vice-versa. Their themes and styles were often very similar. I think he never got over her.
May the force be with u |
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