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.

Silence

Silence is a gift

For which we have so little time.

A shame--

We can scarcely comprehend

All it could tell us

If we would but listen.

Inner Wars Are Best Fought By Proxies

Toy soldiers,

Lined up in formation

In resplendent battle gear.

Peasats with pitchforks arrayed

On the other side.

Inner wars are best fought by proxies,

and I don't care who wins.