Countdown

An insomniac’s struggle to escape the relentless grasp of sleeplessness

Feb 08, 2025

Research suggests that insomnia’s persistent song of sleeplessness echoes in our genes. Genes controlling sleep orchestrate our restless nights, counting down the moments lost to darkness.
Sleeplessness sometimes plagues me during the night. The clock ticks. Time seems to slow to a crawl. Thoughts rush through my mind like a whirlwind. I lie awake thinking about unanswered emails, forgotten groceries, and past regrets.
One of those sleepless nights led me to find out more about insomnia and led to this poem.

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when published

In the stillness of the night, she lies,   
A restless figure draped in shadows,   
Time slips through her fingers,   
Each tick of the clock, a gambit,   
Counting breaths that refuse to settle.    

Six hours. A promise; a cruel joke,   
If only sleep would weave its gentle veil,   
But her mind, a stormy sea,   
Rages against the shore of silence,   
Thoughts crashing, relentless waves of worry.    

She feels the pull of fatigue,   
Yet sleep dances just beyond her reach,   
Fingers trace the contours of her pillow,   
Searching for solace in the cool embrace,   
But finds only the echo of her thoughts.    

Five hours. A sliver of hope,   
A glimmer in the vast expanse of night,   
But her mind churns, a restless engine,   
Chasing shadows that flicker in the dark,   
Each thought a tether, pulling her back.    

She remembers the warmth of daylight,   
The sun’s embrace, its golden touch,   
Yet now it feels like a distant dream,   
A promise made but never kept,   
As she lies in the cocoon of her thoughts.    

Five hours. Will it ever be enough?   
As she counts the breaths that come too slowly,   
Each moment stretches, a thin wire,   
Taut with the weight of her longing,   
For a night that should cradle her gently.  

She shifts, seeking comfort in the sheets,   
But each movement stirs the restless ghosts,   
An orchestra of sighs, the creak of the floor,   
The world outside, a lullaby she cannot hear,   
As she yearns for the sweet surrender of dreams.    

Four hours. The numbers dwindle,   
A countdown echoing in the silence,   
Each hour a grain of sand slipping away,   
Her thoughts, relentless waves,   
Crashing against the fragile shore of sleep.    

If she could just close her eyes,   
Let the world fade into a hushed sigh,   
But the murmurs of the day linger,   
Echoes of laughter, the weight of unspoken words,   
They weave a tapestry she cannot escape.  

Her heart beats in time with the clock,   
A metronome marking her descent,   
Four hours, a fleeting chance,   
Yet sleep, the elusive phantom,   
Evades her grasp like smoke through fingers.    

Three hours. A cruel arithmetic,   
The promise of rest now a distant flutter,   
Her eyelids heavy, yet stubbornly awake,   
A flower refusing to close at dusk,   
Yearning for the sun that will soon arrive.    

If she could dive into the depths of dreams,   
Where worries dissolve like mist in the morning,   
But the night is a labyrinth, twisting and turning,   
Leading her deeper into shadows,   
Where whispers of anxiety linger in the corners.    

She recalls the warmth of morning coffee,   
The aroma that dances in the air,   
A world waking to the hum of life,   
But here, in this realm of sleeplessness,   
She remains a ghost, haunting her own thoughts.    

Three hours. A rumor of possibility,   
Yet the clock’s tick becomes a taunt,   
Counting the moments she cannot reclaim,   
While outside, the stars blink in silent sympathy,   
Witnesses to her battle against the night.    

She closes her eyes, willing them shut,   
Imagining a tide that could wash her away,   
But sleep, that elusive siren,   
Sings a song just out of reach,   
As she clings to the edge of wakefulness.    

Two hours. In that fragile moment,   
A lullaby wraps around her,   
And she drifts, a feather on the breeze,   
Floating into the depths of a dream,   
Where worries dissolve into the night.    

But the alarm, a ruthless herald,   
Shatters the silence with its shrill cry,   
A jarring reminder of responsibilities,   
The day’s demands crashing into her cocoon,   
And she awakens, disoriented, adrift.    

Two hours—was it enough?   
She blinks against the harsh light of dawn,   
Fingers fumbling for the clock,   
As reality floods back like a tide,   
Rushing in to reclaim her from the depths.    

Sleep had been a fleeting visitor,   
A whisper that slipped through her fingers,   
And now, with the sun rising,   
She feels the weight of the day settle in,   
The promise of rest fading like mist.    

She sits up, a weary traveler,   
The journey of the night etched in her bones,   
A thousand thoughts swirl in her mind,   
As she prepares to face the world anew,   
With the echo of dreams still lingering,    

Two hours, a breath in the vastness,   
And yet, her heart yearns for more,   
For the sweet embrace of slumber,   
To lose herself once again in the night,   
Where her body revives and dreams unfurl.

Author’s Note

My award-winning book of poetry and prose, The Edges, is available in digital and paperback formats at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple Books, Google Play, IngramSpark, and Kobo.

Upcoming…

Poems about the cycle of life and death:
Eternally, 15 February 2025

Immigrant Dreams is Here—Be Part of the Experience!

Immigrant Dreams, a collection of 33 poems celebrating the resilience and hope of those who dare to dream beyond borders, is now available in digital, paperback, and hardcover formats.

Order Now!

Details and information on signed and free copies are available here.

Thanks very much for reading, subscribing, and sharing the stories, poetry, and essays in this space. If you like a story, poem, or essay, please click on the heart. Also if you are so moved, please leave a comment.

Refer a friend