Tossing and turning
hopelessly stirring
trapped in a sleepless night
turned to a sleepless life;
no rest for the wicked
no rest for the weary
which am I?
My only query.
Rest eludes me
like a scarlet spider,
a harlot mired
and caught in a web
of degenerate desire.
Where is my peace?
Where is my security?
Beaten and beguiled by
my impurities –
constantly worrying me
monstrously unfurling me;
drowning in disarray
I am afflicted, I am afraid
will I ever
be okay?
–
God, I give up
this restless heart
you’ve seen it torn
part by part.
Stitch me together
piece by piece,
mend what is broken, underneath.
Bring my prodigal soul
home.
Tides of the Enigma 