Poetry Corner 6

Sleep Less

By Eoin Keogh

Sleepless, sleep has long escaped me, but I do not mind less sleep if it means I can daydream about being in your arms.

Sleeping less means timezones do not pose a threat to talking to you, my dear, thoughtlessly spending hours hearing the words struggle to let go of your soft lips.

I know if we were both sleepless, sleeplessness would not be a problem as we'd sleep in a sweet embrace, but want to sleep less to spend our waking moments together.

The only con to both sleeplessness and sleepless nights is although I daydream, I don't get to dream.

Is this sleeplessness because I'm too entranced with your smile, I'm too encapsulated by your beauty, because I'm simply blown away by you, or is it because of this great physical space that is betwixt us, keeping us apart when I desire thee so?

My mind is tired, and I'm not to know, at least tonight. My duvet is warm and soft, my pillows are cold and plump, my mattress is comfy, yet the only thing missing is you.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? For you make me feel warm and happy? No...you do more than that... Everytime I feel your touch, your fingertips brushing my hair out of my eyes, gently caressing my hand, my heart jumps.

My senses escape and I'm elevated to a higher plain, pain disappearing, pure love felt in my soul. Perhaps it's why I'm sleepless and I sleep less, as three weeks makes me crave your touch, and staying awake lets me think about you with full attention.


By Jessica Viola

Repossessing the fragments of my life

That I once had before we cut ties

Stitching and pulling the pieces 

Back together again...

Until it resembles something more 

Than a future we left behind,

But instead it turns into a quilt

Of loose pieces repatched 

To become something beautiful.

The parts of myself that I once knew 

But forgot existed hold it all together 

Like a needle and a string.

I let you tear up my tapestry before 

So that we could create a masterpiece

That we would share as ours.

But I have learned now 

That it wasn’t right for me 

To allow you to break me down, 

Just so that you could repair 

The wounds that you had created.

I was left with nothing but broken fragments,

That were tattered and torn apart 

So, I repaired the pieces of myself that 

I’ve found once again to become patchwork art.