Insomnia, Part II

The covers feel hot,
My skin prickles with sweat,
And thoughts dart like silvery fishes

First come my moments of shame...
Like gremlins, skittering and chattering,
Swarming like roaches, gathering in the shadows,
Then scuttling into the light, staring at me with accusing eyes...

The things I said that were dumb,
The things I did that were wrong,
The thoughts I had that were spiteful,
The people that I failed or disregarded,

My moments of arrogance,

My moments of embarrassment...

A procession of my shame.

The darkness seems to stare at me,
And the sweat beads on my brow

Next come my regrets, 
Just sad shadows, silent,
Shifting forms as they drift past me
Staring blankly into empty space,
But when I turn my mind away from them,
I feel them looking at me.

All of the might-have-beens and never-weres,
All of the near-misses and the misguided impulses,
All of the bad decisions, all of the bad excuses,
All of the doubts that held me to ransom,
All of the misjudgments, and all the misplaced trust...
A procession of my regret.

My head is aching now, 
And the pillows feel like lead...

And now here comes my anger,
At first an advancing, impassive wall of fire,
But as it looms over me, blowing me in it's burning wind,
I now see the forms... without faces,
Shapes and images and memories resolve from the flames,
Each one feeding the fire until it glows white,
Before fading into sparks, waiting to rise again.

Every act of cruelty that ever made me sick,
Every act of stupidity that made me itch,
Every injustice that boils in my heart,
Every wrong that I'm unable to right,
Every news story I wish I hadn't heard,
Each slice of history I wish I didn't know...
This is the procession of my anger. 

And now the fire is in my stomach, writhing,
And my hands are clutching the sheets...

And last come the fears,

A funeral procession - perhaps my own -
of hooded figures, robed and shadowed, faces hidden,
Inexorable as the flow of glaciers as they pass
through the inside of my eyes, slow, laden with menace,
Never looking at me,
Never acknowledging me, 
As cold as ice.

Boredom. Loneliness. Dullness. Helplessness.
Failure. Shame. Infirmity. Betrayal. 
Drowning in anger, dying in pain,
Destitution. Judgment. Embitterment.
And at the rear...always at the rear...
here comes the Reaper.
This is the procession of my fears.

So I throw back the covers,
And rise... rise... rise.... 

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I do understand this poem. I had to learn meditation to clear my head so I could sleep.
"All of the might-have-beens and never-weres,
All of the near-misses and the misguided impulses,
All of the bad decisions, all of the bad excuses,
All of the doubts that held me to ransom,
All of the misjudgments, and all the misplaced trust...
A procession of my regret."
The above lines are true. Flow of thoughts good and bad cannot be stopped. I loved the use of language and thoughts. A strong ending to a outstanding poem.
Coyote