Creator / imaginer: Dabbler in art, literature and sound.
The Kingdom of Sleep
Was elusive last night.
My eyes remained open,
Though I held them shut tight.
I stared through the darkness
With my eyes tightly closed,
But entry was forbidden
For reasons never disclosed.
Now I sit in the morning dim,
As the sun prepares to rise.
I have much work before me,
Yet my weary mind seeks closed eyes.
Oh, Kingdom of Sleep,
Do let me in
When the hour feels more right.
Not now, when there is work to do,
But when I lie in darkness
And welcome the night.
Sleep tempts me early this evening.
Rain pours steadily through the darkness outside,
While the wind rattles the house,
Causing the trees to hiss and whisper.
The winter air is cold and unfriendly,
A chill that presses against the glass,
Seeking entry.
I sit alone,
Listening to it all.
Sleep has come calling.
Ghostly fingers gently lower my eyelids,
Their touch patient,
Persistent.
I sit at my desk,
Warm beside the heater,
My thoughts growing heavy.
Yet still my head resists,
Fighting the summons of the Dreamlands,
Where emerald oceans glisten beneath starlit skies,
And strange vessels wander moonlit shores.
The rain continues to fall.
The wind continues to hiss through trees.
And sleep waits quietly,
Knowing it will win.
The night outside feels so loud in its silence,
I listen wearily, retracing old faces in my mind,
Ghosts of laughter echo through hollow corridors,
Their voices worn thin by the passage of time,
Each memory arrives like a hesitant visitor,
Knocking softly where sleep once stood guard,
And I sit beneath the weight of their shadows,
Counting the distance between what was and what remains.
The full moon gazes down,
A great pale eye watching from the heavens.
I lie awake,
Longing to wander once more
Within the lands of dreams.
Instead, I remain trapped
Within an awakened mind,
Alone and without comfort,
Searching for the doors of sleep.
Each uneasy cough,
Pushes me another step from serenity.
Beyond my open window,
The world is dark, still, and warm.
The night holds its breath.
It is four o’clock in the morning.
The hour of lucid dreams has passed,
Yet the doorway remains closed.
I turn and shift.
Bedsheets entangle my feet.
My neck aches.
My restless body refuses surrender.
Above, the moon continues its silent vigil.
Far overhead,
An aircraft laden with sleepers
Crosses the darkness,
Carrying its dreaming passengers
To destinations unknown.
My mind craves only sleep.
I can feel the doorway drawing near.
So I write,
Hoping these words will carry me
Across the threshold.
My weary eyes are the keys
That unlock the realm of dreams.
May the doors of sleep close firmly behind me,
That I may wander forgotten roads until dawn,
And awaken once more
Beneath the light
Of the new morning sun.
