Original Poetry • Leslie Berg • 2026
A reflection on sleeplessness, exhaustion, and the painful distance between a body desperate for rest and a mind that cannot find peace.
The heavy tide rolls inward from the dark,
and seeks to wash across the jagged stone
of this exhausted, burning, waking mind.
My eyelids ache with heavy, leaden weight,
a desperate craving just to close the gate,
yet like a cliff that stands against the sea,
my frantic thoughts rise up to break the wave.
I toss and turn upon the tangled sheets,
a weary soul, so broken by the day,
who begs the deep to swallow up the noise.
The body pleads for quiet, numb relief,
and sinks into the shallow, drifting foam,
but with each swell that rises toward my chest,
the undertow of worry pulls me back.
It is a cruel, relentless war of nerves:
to starve for peace while standing at the feast,
to feel the cool water touch the skin
but never drown the fire in the brain.
The white foam crashes blinding in my eyes,
and leaves me stranded on this barren shore.
The linen traps the heat of midday stress,
as heavy limbs sink deep into the mattress,
like leaden weights that cannot find their rest.
I flip the pillow, searching for the cold,
but find no comfort in the shifting cloth;
my pulse beats loud against the fabric weave,
a drum that counts the empty hours away.
The muscles twitch, refusing to uncoil,
stretched tight as wires beneath the heavy blanket.
My chest feels hollowed by the creeping clock,
each ticking second striking like a blow
against a temple throbbing with the strain.
The eyes are dry, a desert of fatigue,
that stare into the dark and find no peace.
The dark night stretches like an endless road,
where sleep remains a ghost I cannot catch.
I watch the shadows lengthen on the ceiling,
and track the slow, agonizing crawl of time,
imprisoned in a frame too tired to move,
yet far too loud to let the curtain fall.
A pale and bitter gray begins to bleed
across the windowsill to break the night,
unveiling all the wreckage of the dark.
The morning light arrives with no relief,
no healing touch to mend the broken spirit,
but demands the hollow shell to rise and dress,
and drag this heavy frame into the world.
I brace myself to face the coming hours,
to mask the bone-deep hollow in my eyes,
and spin the wheel of duty one more time.
I step into the glare of waking life,
but carry still the weight of empty shores,
cursed with the knowledge that when shadows fall,
the setting sun will bring no peace at all.
— Leslie Berg
The Weight of Empty Shores is an original poem by Leslie Berg, published on the Create Joy Studios website as part of her poetry and writing collection.
Through the recurring imagery of waves, shorelines, and restless water, the poem explores the experience of profound exhaustion without the relief of sleep.
About the Poem
The Weight of Empty Shores examines the physical and emotional experience of sleeplessness, when the body is exhausted but the mind remains painfully alert. The poem uses the movement of the sea to represent the constant struggle between the desire for rest and the persistence of anxious thought.
Its imagery moves between a turbulent shoreline and the intimate surroundings of a sleepless bedroom. Tangled sheets, a restless pulse, aching eyes, and the slow passage of time create a portrait of fatigue that extends beyond an ordinary difficult night.
As darkness gives way to morning, the expected relief of daylight never arrives. Instead, the speaker must face another day while carrying the exhaustion of the night before.
The poem reflects on the isolating nature of prolonged sleeplessness and the quiet endurance required to continue fulfilling everyday responsibilities when genuine rest remains frustratingly out of reach.