On Your Eyelids Crown The God Of Sleep

I sink beneath the pale of lethargy, and let my body take its rest. For in the veil of sleep, I fear, the wicked shine their best.

What ails thee, love? What darling creeps upon thy breast? ’Tis only me, my love, the fair- haired child, a sinner laid to rest.

In spite of certain hours, I track spirits for the kin. Of certain midnight wanderers, whose light is fading thin.

And still I think, I could vanish from the Earth. Without so much a whisper, sever ties with timid birth.

I fix my eyes on Ares, and shoot an arrow through the wind. It circles round and finds its center, my heart, it sinks within.

And still I’m plagued with thoughts unholy, unchildlike, unblinking sin. They sing of fate eternal, the lives of fated mortal men.

A life unlived, is akin to a love that’s unreturned. The lover’s soul is wakened to a fire that ever burns.

O my host, sing softly, for the Herald is sure to wake. And when he does he’ll surely be the loudest voice to shake.

Upon the roof we’ll linger for a while to love the moon, and in the morning sleeping let the sun fulfill her keeping for the day’s return to loom.