Nothing
Is the answer to the riddle
that hearkens death
to those who feast upon it

And is the segue
for the tangents
my mind chases
like a rat running
its labyrinth maze

It is a world away
from bedtime stories
and bedtime songs
with endless extra verses
to keep the night at bay

And it lives within
the witching hour
of busy mind
and ever slowing heart

There is a small death
for the insomniac
when anxiety comes tapping
in the slumbering hours

And none but that restless
dreamer are awake
to hear the pitter patter
plucking overwrought strings
at the back of the mind

Until every worry
is amplified
and every faux pas
an international incident

as the wee hours of the morning
the dark hours of the night
strip us of one sure
piece of knowledge:

worry is a liar
skilled and consummate
but still a speaker
of falsehood
ready to run a con
on anyone who will listen
to his words ~ Caroline A. Slee