Poemetry by T.A. Barnhart


the window, open
by my head
as i wait for sleep,
cool air and warm coverings,
but sleep just doesn’t
seem to be a thing for me.
i sometimes think
i don’t want to sleep;
i’m so angry
at the waste
of my life;
isn’t sleep just more
lost time?
but sleep does come,
almost against my will.
strange dreams
and it’s so hard
to wake up;
when was the last time
i felt rested?
and then
another day
and too tired again
and once again
a day gone past
and i want to sleep
and i want to live
but if i should die
before i wake….

©TA Barnhart January 10, 2021