An Insomniac's Dawn

The hands of the clock
wave stiffly through the small hours;
a lengthy, bitter goodbye.
I sit in four-cornered dark,
so awake yet wrapped in a shroud
that slowly slips from black to grey.

Then it happens.
Around my blind a halo
of light appears.
Sun hatches from the horizon,
spills itself, all yellow,
blazes and flares.

Dawn bursts through curtains,
scrubs night from the walls
that glow - sun-bruised.
My room sheds its old skin,
not wounded but bleeding gold,
oozing glittering hues.

And I, the undreaming,
am sinking, submerged
in my room's own living dream.
Lost in light, I'm swimming,
slipping, through night-purged,
bright and giddy gleam.

This brilliance touches, transforms me,
so that I glow and glint -
embrace the flames.
Filled with elation, freed,
I know if every dawn is such an event,
I shan’t lose sleep over never sleeping again.