Improving sestina format (unfinished, "..." = missing stanzas)
In the dark, I waited for the weight of sleep
to press my eyes. Sleep to be split
by an alarm’s scream or the sun’s lithe stream,
whichever came first.
But of course,
sleep never showed up. Sleep never showed up
and I was left dreading the dark.
Why, when my eyes feel nothing but dark
do I forget that stuttered rhythm of sleep?
My mind calls for it. Eyes glance up
to search the inky ceiling for some sign of it split
amongst speckled plaster’s course,
but still no trace amongst its stippled stream.
I dread the anticipated sun’s stream
which combusts the potential of my dark.
I deny, to no one, the run of this night’s course
in fear of every minute passed without sleep
until even my words hum like insomnia split
amongst the rafters, but never reaching up.
...
Once, stuck in an astronomy course
I learned the benefits of looking up,
to see the stars I miss in sleep
that spark, the orbit the zenith’s stream,
so full of dots, only the greatest light shows dark
when the clouds have finally split.
...
...
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