Insomniac

My mind’s a vacant playground 

And some strange thoughts rise

Like indolent tendrils of smog

On a steady ascent up the skies

While the chimneys stand aloof

But for their momentary yawns

On a cold winter morn

And these thoughts fall back

In a couple of varying volleys

That I see my sleep recede

Far across the yonder vales

Of quietude and total oblivion

Try as I may, I can barely

Shrug off these leaden thoughts

Laden with this, that and what not

I dream of opium now

And wish to grow soporific

At least for a moment

Before the imminent dawn

PS: 30/05/2020