But there isn't supposed to be a sense of wonder. It's the sun coming on on my garden, not very exciting. It's about the terror of not being able to sleep and seeing it get light (which it does very early in Britain in June). But that watching the light distracts me from the whole being unable to sleep thing. Hm. Perhaps the fact I need to explain all this shows the poem doesn't. First draft anyway, needs a re-write.

Have you never woken up at four o'clock in the morning and been unable to get back to sleep and so suffered from a horribly intense irrational fear and sense of complete and total sadness, melancholy and ennui? Perhaps this only happens to me.

Blimey, that's a lot of critiquing you've been doing in one day.

It's not about convoluted language. It's about wanting to be able to not think. But to require a mental activity to stop yourself thinking. Because otherwise the horror comes.

Looking at the stuff I've written there are many poems about not being to sleep; it's a subject that means a lot to me. It's why I'm writing this past midnight having got home from a gig; because I'm scared when I do go to bed I might be awake for hours yet. So this poem is about waking up, it's summer, it gets light early, intently watching the changing colours of the sky as the sun rises distracts me from that four am sense of emptiness.

I'm not saying it's a perfect poem, far from it, but the horror and the terror isn't directly in it because it's a poem about avoiding that rather than confronting it.