in the black of night
while quiet is at its loudest
they arrive, one
after another, after another
tiny at first
just a nudge
a whisper
a faint suggestion
enough to wake
and lie in question
as to the possibility
of further slumber
they begin to grow
sprouting arms that wrap
themselves around my head
and fingers that prop my eyes open
thoughts of sleep are plucked
from my brain and tossed aside
like cigarette butts with the possibility
of reigniting, only to eventually burn out
they push aside lists and priorities
they push aside daily commitments
they push aside attempts at comfort
they dance in my head and scream from within
until at last, with no choice left
I rise from bed, careful to be quiet
no need to wake others who are held
close by that stranger called Sleep
down the stairs, shush the dog
turn on the lowest lights
start the pot, pour the cream
at last I sit, pen in hand
April 16th
Prompt: Write a The Blank of a Blank Poem
Tori Dreamer 