The clock is ticking
a metronome
a numbing, staccato beat
each tick reverberates on my weary mind
a magnetic pull obliterating all other thought
and sound
heavy eyelids scratch and droop
sodden, wet wool in a Scottish rainstorm
I crave sleep
the ticking beckons
now, now, sleep now
but sleep dances away
teasing mercilessly
a Sufi dervish spinning, whirling
dizzyingly taunting
giddiness overtakes me
as the clock becomes my world
shapes move in and out of my bleary eyed vision
I’m flying through space
floating, drifting,distorted
only to be pulled back
by the ticking
THE DAMN TICKING!
ScribbleDartsfromtheHeart 
You have nailed Insomnia in terms of its character and its beat! You have some wonderful images in this poem, Mary: (1) sodden, wet wool in a Scottish rainstorm, (2) sleep dances away (love the whole verse!). (3)…I am flying through space. These are just some of my favourite images. Did you write this while trying to go to sleep one night? There is something so authentic in your writing!