Sleep

Again, why dont i like my own poetry anymore? I guess it seems maybe forced, like theres not enough emotion backing it, or maybe not the right kind anymore. Maybe this poetic therapy does work??

Sleep
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The moon is down,
The sun is rising,
I guess i should to,
But when i do, i never see you.

I wish i could,
I wish i could wake up to your face every morning,
Just so i can watch you sleep,
listen to your gently snoring,
Which others think may be boring,
But when i see your cute little cheeks, your dimples steeked
Into the corners of your mouth,
As you smile, which brightens my day from square one,
A beacon of hope, an omen of good faith,
A refusal to mope, as I start my day.

But just watching you sleep, i could do for ever,
Staying up late, while your passed away,
Unaware of my lingering eyes,
That pass your body like elevators to the skies.

A haunting chill passes down my spine,
As i come to realize,
That this is untrue,
For i never get to see you,
I dont know what its like to see your rosy cheeks,
Gently expanded by the the air, you exhale, you speak,
A disgruntled groan, I can only imagine,
That is, untill you take that one step with me, into the eden.

~Daniel Chapman