Exultation

I

Laboriously climb

The rock-hewn stairs

Towards exultation.

Yet at every step,

I pause and think

If I'd be better off

Turning back

As my sweat drips down.

But I can't.

I've been there--

And the only way

Is up.

Pyre of Insomnia

Insomina

Is the pyre

of the Self.

But...

Who is holding the match?

Insomniac's Lament

Hear

My mournful sleepless tune,

My insomniac's lament.

A cat meows dolefully outside my window.

Somewhere,

A dog barks.

Meanwhile, I toss and turn,

Hoping for a glimpse of sleep.

But if I do fall asleep...

What will happen to my poems?

A Letter to Insomnia

Dear Insomnia,

You're responsible

For some of my best poems.

I hate you...

Please don't leave me.

Sleep Combat

I toss and turn,

Waging fierce combat

Against the sleeping pill.

Will I sleep? Will I dream?

I don't know.

All I can do

Is write this poem

And hope for the best.

The Ferryman

In a self-created hell,

there is no Charon

To ferry us across

The river Styx.

We are alone.

The one remaining place

To seek out the ferryman

Is inside.

Crunchy Leaves

Laying in bed,

Tossing and turning,

I think of the crunchy leaves

I stepped on earlier.

And I feel guilt

That no one else will ever

Step on those same leaves again.

I've effectively planted my flag

Expanding my crunchy leaf dominion.

Others will just have

To live with that.