Memory Never Sleeps
by Odin Roark

To sleep
or
not to sleep.
So many know that
is not the question.

For memory knows well
the arrows of unrest
that harass the shackles
imprisoning consciousness.

To sleep
or
not to sleep,
a decision making little difference.

But, today…

Memory,
you rose early
ventured out,
shivered with the cold,
turned street corners of long ago,
stirred up a tornado of gray days,
a swirling litter of uprooted yesterdays,
and tossed them about in my warm cocoon of absence.

Still feeling feisty,
you tried to pierce entry into my one room solace,
puncturing the porous cardboard
holding my window in place,
its clear view of the outer world long ago shattered.

Still persisting,
you pin-cushioned those archived experiences
around,
beneath,
and atop my bed,
trying once again
to awaken my fortress of forgetful purpose.

Oh, Memory…

Once again,
I’m of no mind
to pacify your persistence,
the tempest of your will.

For, as always,
your attack will rapidly decay into dust,
mix with snow I hear peppering
my corrugated transom,
and swirl about yet another day
of my reverie’s insulation.

Smile.

Time will one day stop
and you too will shiver with delight,
for I will be one less nightmare to keep alive.

Such happiness awaits, old friend.

Care to join me?