Sleep

There’s an old hunger in my soul;
It calls for darkness and silence;
She rests, so lonesome and unwhole;
They foment beauty and violence.

An invitation to a dream-
Held within the Garden of Eve;
The gentle kettle’s silent steam-
Rises over your collared sleeve.

After an elegant slow dance,
The party ended and you left-
To explore this beautiful trance;
Two foreign worlds, an ancient cleft.

Your carriage passed red maple trees,
And rolled along gold-plated streets;
By an old hill above all seas,
You stood and pondered obsoletes.

“Should I leave for a normal time?
Shall I awake one distant day-
And find all that was ever mine-
Lost to a dreamless, weary gray?”

In fawning happiness, you cried-
Above a sea of gentle water;
Rejecting that maybe you’ve lied-
It will not ever get better.