insomnia strikes

It is the witching hour
of sweet silent symmetry
of diagonals and perfect lines
across, above, beneath,
and likened to a tune
that crosses thumbs within its key
I sit awake and count the hours
'til I can sleep in peace.

Repetitious in its form
it weaves together a deceit
when we were dreaming past the hours
alongside twitching feet
and likened to a tune
that crosses thumbs within its key
I sit and watch the world devour
its sleepy hours in peace.