Sleep

I can't take sleep seriously.
There is too much innocence during,
All the madness of the day disappears,
And I have to face the morning without agitation,
Start the day with a blank page,
Without chewing over past turmoil
Or analyses that have to be made.

Honestly,
There must be something they are not telling me,
Like the nightmare at the bus stop,
The lying awake all night,
Where is the missing pillow, the hard mattress
That compensates for the soft meadows and the flying like a bird.
Pink clouds are dangerous.
And I insist,
I insist vigorously
That you introduce me to
Real sleep.
The one that teaches me the day.

I don't believe you anymore if you say that
You dreamt about
The lilies in the valley,
I caught the black glimpse in your eye
That told me all the rest,
That what was never talked about.

Last night there was a tinkling in the room,
A silent jingle near the bedroom floor,
'All waiting should stop one day', it said,
'And sleeping has to be done with your eyes open'.
'Yes', I spoke out loud to the darkness, 'You are right.
I shouldn't wait for no-one,
To see,
To wrestle until the morning,
And carry my blanket to a dangerous place,
In order to sleep there where ebb and flow can overflow me'.