Sleep

A quick piece for you, trying to draw on the sort of language I love, written while waiting to go and see a friend of mine. It’s amazing where the mind takes you while idle, no? I hope you like it.

Once more, ‘pon keeper
Of my darkest dreams do
I lay my head;
O! What screaming
Horror may fly to me
On darkly shaded wings?
’tis not for me the
Gentle arms of Morpheus,
To soothe and soft refresh
From days hard labour;
Nay, resigned am I to
The slow tick of curs-ed clock,
Which scythes away
Minute by minute, hour by
Creeping hour.

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