Insomnia

The two windows are open,
yet I see nothing through them
Slumber beckons me like an elusive whore
yet I turn her away.
Am i waiting for it to be late enough today
or the early daylight tomorrow.

I am wide awake
but awareness remains a stranger to me,
Are they conscious thoughts that enthrall
Or I must have dozed off and dreamed it all.
I can't be sure.

The streetlights serve a purpose to none at this hour,
standing alone, blinding bright, yet radiating gloom.
The sandman's done his work for the day,
the crickets sing no more,
Even the air seems to be in slumber,
The active zephyr long gone crept into a forlorn crevice.
Nocturnals have called it quits
but me, something still stays amiss.

Sandbags persuading my eyelids, seducing them into bliss
But a rebellion dwells, maybe powered by emotion.
What emotion it is, I am not quite sure
Though I know for sure what it is not.
Remorse and compunction do not fuel this riot,
nor is it loneliness, discord or retribution.

I thought time would slow down, or at least speed up.
It doesn't matter; I have lost track all the same.
A white solitude exists, thwarted only by discoloration.
I'm not blue,
Though I wonder why realization seems black.