Still sleepless in Essex

The funny thing is that the night after I wrote the first draft of this poem, i had a horrible nightmare about dieing. I dreamt that the grim reaper was chasing me. Spooky enough, but then I awoke, stumbling around me room to find him in my doorway. As he caught hold of me I was able to wake up for real. This is the first time I ever had a wake-up-in-my-sleep dream. It was the scariest dream experience I had ever had. Amazingly, my dream room was exactly the same as me real room, right down to the pile of clothes that needs mending. My sleep has gotten better ever since I read a passage from Doctor Zhivago on consciousness and sleep. Apparently all I needed was to be talked into letting myself just fall asleep and not trying to talk myself into falling asleep. Here's a second draft of the poem:

Finding Sleep (A.K.A Battling Insomnia)

When my heart is broken
and you are not there,
where can I find my solace?

Left alone, I am sleepless
with restless dreams and a tiredness
that will not subside.

I think of my world
and the golden strings
wondering what will become of them next.

Three sisters, sharing one sight,
three minds with the same conclusion.
They have no sleep, for there is work to be done.

They work while I await my rest.