Under my mattress is a pea
Just the smallest disturbance I could easily ignore.
Another mattresses won’t stop the irritation.
I roll to my side and lull to rest,
But my backside pursues the lump.
Just another middle of the night
Tossing and turning in the smallest hours
As the clock ticks 2- 3- 4.
The single legume harasses my calm
As I fail to command a quiet mind.
The pea yelps at my slumber, robbing my rest
Begging for attention in the silence of night.
It laughs as my mind, hurls ideas into the never.
Plots twist and are lost, songs never sung, paint dried in tubes.
A thousand answers to a hundred questions.
All lost to the murdering numbness of comfort.
Creativity is a pea, a tiny seed
Under my mattress and it nags like a bitch.
With a repeated turn of phrase
The subtle combination of sounds Seeking-Sea King
a whispered plot revelations bizarre.