The Raging Insomniac

When the sun goes down, the vast majority

of people like to hide underneath their heavy, ivory comforters with a

couple of coffee stains here and there

and they fall into a slumber for

probably about six to eight hours.

They're not gonna wanna wake up.

They're gonna hit the snooze button twice.

They might throw their alarms against the wall.

 

There are these interesting creatures called insomniacs

who don't sleep because a.) their bodies won't

let 'em, b.) their bodies won't let 'em,

c.) they love exploring the silence that

comes with moonlight, and d.) their 

bodies won't let 'em. Their days last for

24 to 72 hours but it's not even remotely

bizarre to them that they're usually

never tired after all of that time

awake and livin'.

Elusive.

Exuberant.

Lonely.

Lonely. When the rest of the world is

dreaming, they're making magic.

And sitting on the hood of my

old truck that desperately needs to be washed

at 7 AM is my favorite thing to do

because when I'm watching the first hint of

light peek out from under the ridges of the Cascade Mountains,

and the rest of my little corner of the universe

is starting to rise,

I don't feel alone anymore.

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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