When I accepted the fact,
I couldn't sleep,
I slept.
As soon as I came to realize,
Ambassadors of Christ,
those who have thorns in their sides,
who stay on their knees, in thought,
their fruit of labor
stands guard, to watch over the saints.
The House of God
Perhaps,
spiritual insomnia is my calling.
Physical insomnia is my right.
My privilege to fall asleep,
Is not, will not, be until
the time comes, and insomnia returns,
back to stardust,
waiting to form its way,
some other way,
to some other soul,
who’ll try to explain it away.
Copyright, Care forms poetry.
Contributing Writer, Shira Garnett