The Incessant Whispers of Insomnia

When you can’t tune out the Muse
But your weary eyes refuse to skim another page,
When muting the channel of inspiration is futile,
Though your limbs ache and shake with
The promise of imminent rain,
You try to drown out the voices
That defy the silence
By meditating on diving deeper
Into the present moment–
The irony of that intention
Is not lost on you, no

So…you pick up the phone
And tap out this sound byte of dialogue here,
That scrap of character description there,
Sending a message to your tomorrow self
To kick off another day behind the writing desk

But the moment you rest your head
On the bed once more,
You can SEE your characters awakening
Behind your closed eyes
And you realize they
Will not be silenced
Until you give them the chance
To say what they need to say

So…back behind the barely filtered
Blue-light incandescence you go,
Translating the morse code of action
Tapping incessantly against your
Left temporal lobe,
Until the click click click
Of the keyboard ceases…
And a sigh of satisfaction
Escapes from your lips,
A grant of permission to collapse
Against the pillow once more