Sleepless Nights

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If I could travel back in time I may,

Return to the days when

It hardly mattered

Whether it be

Night or day as

In infancy I did not know

Back then

When the sun would rise or

If it was the moon

That shone through

The window of

My bedroom late at night-

It could have just as well

Been the sun-

I was too young to know

Night from day

Or too young to know

Right from wrong-

It is past midnight at this moment and

I am sitting by my balcony door

Almost terrified,

I must confess-

Of drifting back to the

Time when

I did not know what was real from

What is not and

Fearful of those voices that

Would keep me awake for hours

Commanding me to die and these voices

Were just my mind playing tricks on me and

As for now,

Though they are silenced-

I can hear

Phantasmal rain spattering upon the

Windowsill and as the moon wails past this midnight hour I

Travel back in time to those beautiful days and

Wondrous nights

When it didn’t matter if the voices were real or not and

I was just too young to know

Right from wrong,

Reality from unreality or even

Night from day-

To rest head against my mother’s breast,

The sound of her heartbeat and

The softness of a lullaby were

None but a symphony-

I can hear outside now

The rustling of the leaves upon the maple trees

Blowing in the early autumn breeze and

The pounding of my own heart

In fear of what today will bring

After dawn sets in-

Strange sounds,

Sirens fading into the night’s background and the noises of

A few cars rushing down the boulevard

Are death dirges to me now-

The gentle ticking of the clock on

My living room’s wall

Hardly comforts me and I realize that

Many voices I once heard weren’t even real-

I can only travel back in time to

Those days when night and day were indistinguishable-

My mother is gone but I can still hear her heartbeat and

Along with the sounds of those leaves upon the maple trees

Rustling in the early autumn’s breeze-

I suppose I should be thankful

Just for the fact I am still amongst the living after

Only a year ago

I lay in a seclusion room because

Voices were telling me to harm myself and

The ticking of the clock upon the wall

Is as gentle as mother’s heartbeat and

A different kind of a symphony-

One sleepless night should hardly matter when

In reality I have so much to be grateful for-

The beauty of the moon and those trees I have just spoken of and

The glory of a brand new day when dawn sets in-

 That spirit of mine is still young inside and

It doesn’t really matter if it is night or day, or if it is the

Sun’s light or the moon’s –

The sounds I hear now are reality and those are

A life-giving symphony…

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Claudia Krizay

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