The inside of my eyelids have not gotten the attention

lately

they deserve.

The impression of my

head within

my pillow, 

is not as deep.

Oh, how much

I long to sleep the sleep

of teenage years,

before bills, 

before children, 

before worry, 

before tiny voices

crying out my name in the night

and the pads of little

feet edging their way closer to

my bedside...

pad, pad, pad

across the tile floor,

pad, pad, pad 

the soft, light sounds 

of sleepwalking children

dreamily honing in on your

position in the next room,

unconsciously drawn toward your 

tossing and turning form...

as you pretend to be asleep 

hoping to hear the slight scraping sound

as their feet angle back toward

their bedroom, 

yet

knowing 

the next thing you feel will be

the brush of gentle hands

shaking you awake

pulling you away from the precipice

of happy, oblivious sleep

until you lift them up, nestle them between you

and gingerly find a section of your bed that isn't occupied by a

roving foot or a hugging arm

and try once again 

to fall into that carefree, self abandoning sleep of yesteryears...

only to sigh awake,

tired now

and listen to the contented breathing of the deep,

wondrous sleep of everyone around you.