At night the sheep appear

Oh, the night won’t let me go,

As the moonlight steals my soul,

Counting sheep 'til dawn’s first glow,

In the silence, I lose control.

There’s a shadow on my walls,

Echoes of the night’s soft calls,

Tossing, turning, heartbeats race,

Searching for that sacred space.

And I swear I’ve counted dreams,

Each one fades like whispered screams,

In the cloak of dark despair,

Sheep parade, but I can’t bear.

So I count more sheep than Wales knows,

Through fields of white, my anguish grows,

Every bleat, a sigh, a curse,

In this night, I’m trapped, immersed.

PTSD’s grip is tight,

Haunting visions in the night,

Every pasture, every lane,

Brings the weight of all my pain.

And I’m whispering quiet pleas,

To the stars, floating on the breeze,

But the calm eludes my mind,

In the dark, I’m left behind.

So I count more sheep than the land of Wales has

Through fields of white, my anguish grows,

Every bleat, a sigh, a curse,

In this night, I’m trapped, immersed.

If I could sleep for just one night,

Free from shadows, find the light,

I’d trade my sorrow for sweet dreams,

Escaping this chaotic theme.

But for now, I’ll count them still,

Through the dawn with aching will,

In the quiet, pain repeats,

As I count those woolly fleets.