EDITORIAL NOTE: The author of this poem is the bald one, not the one with all the hair. He was taking a nap during the daytime because he couldn’t sleep at night.

AWAKE

I do not want to be awake. I wish,
instead my racing mind would shift into
a neutral gear, spin to a stop, rehash
no more today/tomorrow/yesterday.
I meditate, I take slow breaths, I say
the very first prayers that I ever knew…
I try to sing myself a lullaby,
but silently, so not to wake nearby
a gently sleeping soul who has it seems
a clear conscience and peaceful dreams.

– Steve Shoemaker, Urbana, IL, sent by email to Editor @12:25 a.m., June 11, 2013

EDITOR’S NOTE: Albert Camus said, “A guilty conscience needs to confess. A work of art is a confession.”

Thanks you, Steve, for the art.