Insomnia. Poem by Brett White

Winter, whose rains oft wash away,
Tears from the face of Idle Pain;
Cleanse me in thy gentle domain,
From my mis'ry which seems to sway

With Pines above. Thou art clean, clear,
Humble, sound, and joyously lent;
Thy Beauty, I swear, 'twere Heaven-Sent.
Lord, please taketh the Wheel and Steer

Mankind down the path of Pure Truth;
Whose roads often are so Narrow,
It's easier't plunge like a Sparrow,
(Wild) into the Follies of Youth.

Steady we stay, as cold as Ice,
Guided only by Unseen Hands.
Time slips away much like Warm Sands,
And Loves' Joy's worth the Sacrifice.

So pray we must before our Sleep,
For the Rays of a brighter day,
Where Pain and its grip shall not sway
Inner Dreams we shall always keep.

Angels caress me while they Kiss
All the troubl'd Hearts the World hast made.
The Sacrifice giv'n and Price Paid
Shall add up to Spiritual Bliss.

My heart's weary and hast grown weak,
Weigh'd with the Burdens of Yesterday;
But in my Soul, a child doth play,
And Salvation thro' pray'r shalt seek.