COVID-Insomnia

My restive brain a twitching heap,

I pray the Lord will soon send sleep;

and, as the clock ticks two, then four,

I pray the Lord will send some more.

It’s not that I’m upset or scared,

but only that my mind’s not spared

from thoughts that wriggle and ferment,

that come without express consent.

But maybe there’s a way to cope.

When, wide awake, I stare and grope

for thoughts to still my troubled head,

there’s something I can try instead.

So many folks are now beset

by hopelessness 'mid mounting debt;

so many sick and quarantined,

no matter how they’ve scrubbed and cleaned.

I’ll pray for those who come to mind;

for some, I know, are in a bind,

while others’ needs are hidden deep.

And then I bet I’ll get to sleep.

Copyright ©2020, Paul H. Harder II

This poem is licensed under a Creative Commons BY-NC-ND 4.0 License