When Sleep Is Elusive

So it's almost four in the morning where I live, and despite my best efforts I am still awake. The worst part about being awake late into the night has to be the boredom. There is no one to interact with and social networks, such as Twitter and Facebook, have slowed to a dull trod. Sometimes I enjoy this abundance of time alone, it gives me space to work on projects and flesh out ideas for my writing, but the last few days my head has been stubbornly empty, and I've been left trying to entertain myself but eventually I run out of things to do. So here I am, writing a little monologue about my lonely sleeplessness. I keep hoping that inspiration will strike, but my head just feels foggy from lack of sleep. I'm no stranger to late nights, in the past year of school, I pulled more than a dozen all nighters, and that doesn't come close to the number of nights where my laptop was illuminated into the wee hours of the morning. I think I'll share a poem a wrote a while back, it was the product of a different sleepless night, but my imagination was much more active then. This is actually the first poem I ever wrote, and it still doesn't have a proper title. Well, here you go: 

A sad man sits on a throne of gold;

his mind wandering to days of old.

Of youthful games that he had played,

of days spent lying in the shade.

A life of peace without a worry,

going nowhere in a hurry.

Each day spent without a care,

with lots and lots of time to spare;

but lo' he turned his back on bliss

and at first glance naught seemed amiss.

So each day he sought out gold,

doing all that he was told,

by men who were devoured be greed,

men who only lived to feed.

And so the joy of life was gone,

each day a new weight put upon

his back which had been without strain,

before his mind was set on gain.

And now his gains have added up,

to his surprise he has grownup

a child of joy he is no more

the loss of youth has left him sore.

And so he sits upon his thrown,

wishing that he had not grown,

for though the world he now possesses,

his life is rife with many stresses,

and though he would pay any cost

to be returned to what he lost,

there is no going back to youth,

each day he faces this sad truth.

And he wonders all the time

if he'd chosen a different line,

would life be happy instead of sad?

Each day he wonders, slowly going mad.

Aging is one of my greatest fears, I feel like Peter Pan sometimes, because I hate the idea of time passing and things changing. I have a strong desire for permanence and that is probably the source of my abiding loyalty. I know it's a simple poem, and it doesn't have much depth or leave much room for reading into it, but still I am immensely proud of it, because it was the first time I ever expressed anything in verse, and showed me how easy it can be to find a rhyme if you take the time. 

Well, I've spent twenty minutes or so working on this post (I know, I'm a slow writer, I get self conscious when I share my words), I think I'll give another crack at sleep; tomorrow I'm going on vacation, I get to spend a week with my father's family in what has become an annual tradition. I can't wait to share experiences from the trip, and maybe some reflections on previous trips, since this is the eleventh time we have visited this location. Hopefully I will conquer my insecurity and write again soon. In the meantime, I will be authing.