I want to put my mind to bed.

Let it rest against the worries of

the day.

Like a little baby, it needs gently

rocking to sleep,

full of the bliss of aliveness

having made it out of the

birth canal, or whatever way

it entered, in one piece.

The mind does not give

up easily.

It holds tight to its

habitual habit of grasping

on to fears for no reason

& not letting go–like a

crazed dog holding on for

dear life.

Sleep lets you start over.


Whatever you can do with

the day can only be done

when the day comes.

Rest would be very desirable

for such an undertaking.

Categories: creative, creative writing, Poetry, sleep, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

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