An Apertif to Insomnia

The Moon,
crisp and cool
in the Winter-clear sky,
is bright enough
to read my soul by.

Siren-like,
She sings seductively
through my veins.

Shining her light on my weariness,
she is the harbinger
of over-active thought.

She comes bearing a riot of the spirit
this January night
without the option to politely decline.

Ready or not,
She has Something to say.

I am ill-prepared
to honor the hidden words
hemmed into the lining
of Psyche's silken skirts tonight.

I am not ready to claim the truths,
woven into her delicate white petticoats;
embroidered there with the thread
of blood and consequence.

But she is alive in me.

Coy and coquettish,
She offers harsh queries on moonsilver trays
as an aperitif to insomnia.

Deep and devilish,
She delivers my discontent gift-wrapped;
neatly tied up with well-honed beams of truth to top it off.

She will not be dispelled.
There can be no peace.

All I want tonight
is sanity and slumber,
but Sleep,
my old illusive friend,
will not come this moon-full night
to comfort me.

She has hidden him,
once again,
in the ever-shifting pattern
of the stars.

And Sanity?
Well...
Sanity left me long ago
in a lovers' tiff
along the shores
of my oft-broken heart.

And I?
I am left alone
at the witching hour
to find peace with my unrest.

The Moon,
crisp and cool
in the Winter-clear sky,
is bright enough
to read my soul by...

© Tanya Anguita