It Has Always Been at Midnight

Or, Confessions of an Insomniac

Spring  forward, fall back

A game we have to play.

But it really doesn’t matter

Makes no difference anyway.

For it has always been at midnight

Quite precisely, more or less

When the real world grows quite hazy,

Some delights tinged with distress

’Cause I’m never really certain

Just where I ought to perch

Is the footing there quite stable?

Will my next step be a lurch

Sending me careening

Out there beyond the pale?

Where my insights all can fragment

And all past wisdom fail?

So I turn the pillow over -

Seeking for a cooler spot

Switch the sounds from trains to stormy.

Hide behind the rain and thunder.

And from what now?  I forgot.

Can the patter on my window

Bring the pleasing calm I seek?

Or send me out free-wheeling

Down some other psychic street?

So it goes, sometimes, till morning

When sunlight creeps back in

And I finally claim some solace,

Blanket tucked beneath my chin.