You’d think that sleep would be my friend.
Like a lover she would seduce me,
lulling me into her black oblivion,
coaxing me into her ocean of darkness
a current of ever-changing images
gently rocking and soothing:
restoration.
You’d think that sleep would be my friend,
But she is a multi-armed demon
tossing me from shore to shore
taunting me with her liquid blackness
abandoning me, exhausted and spent
the last laps of receding tide washing over me,
as dawn’s first rays ignite.
If sleep is an ocean,
then I am the castaway,
capsized,
stranded,
hopeless.
How did this shipwreck occur?
What sin did I perpetuate,
To set me on this tumultuous course.
What sacrifice must my soul make
For sleep to once again be my friend?
One Woman's Quest 