| Falling asleep. My eyelids become heavy. I glace around my hazy bedroom and can see the ocean through the window's glass, the tide peacefully envelopping the shore again and again, slowly eating away the sandy bank, smoothing even the most jagged of rocks. The clock on the wall ticks the seconds, the methodic rhythm matching my pulse. My eyes are nearly closed now, Sleep is creeping up onto me like a dark shadow. Sleep will come, I tell myself, a peaceful release from the stress of this world. Sleep is where I can live my life as it once was; carefree days as a young boy spent in the yellow grass of summer fields. . . That life does not see the day. My limbs lay limp and lifeless, only my mind is awake now. I long for the peace that Sleep will bring me. I lay awake for what seems like an eternity, listening to the clock as it strikes out its painful ticks, protesting years of the dull, repetitive task. It longs as I do. I can feel Sleep's warm breath on my body and I smile as it takes me. I am young again. |
| Falling Asleep - by Lone Wolf |
| the line between poetry and prose is a very fine line indeed |