Insomnia, Gently, This Is A Beautiful Poem By SPureRuh
By SPureRuh, WFY Bureau | Art & Culture | The WFY Magazine, February, 2026, Edition
Insomnia, Gently
It comes every day,
sometimes while I sit, sometimes while I do nothing.
It grows slowly,
only as much
as it needs to make me restless.
It cannot be seen,
but it is felt.
It comes close
and sits with me
every night.
It asks, what happened?
If I say I am addicted to you,
it laughs.
It says,
I never called you,
then how is this an addiction?
It knows everything,
yet takes no blame.
Every night it tightens its grip,
pulls me away from myself,
and points at the moon through the window,
calling it beautiful.
Did it ever like something?
It only carries away
the one it belongs to.
Sometimes
it gives away its own address,
when familiarity
becomes a little too deep.
Still, it does not let go of concern.
It says,
I will come again tomorrow.
How strange it is,
without saying anything,
it lets me drift.
Sometimes it burns me in thought,
sometimes extinguishes me in tension,
and still, it comes.
Sometimes,
when I try to move away from it,
it frightens me
by mocking my loneliness,
until sleep finally arrives.
Then morning begins to appear.
I know
it will come again tomorrow.
Still,
it sulks quietly.
Morning comes,
and it leaves
Insomnia, Gently.
SPureRuhÂ
