Wakeful Sleep

Cold calls and sweeps those sleeping

For in wakeful sleep do I lay dreaming

The art of living

The art of dying

Has hope of being now so clear.

Call forth my dreams and seek the seeker,

For I, in wakeful sleep

Do dream of those men weaker

Who by will and furled brow

Fail to answer the question: How?

Words, a cry in the dark

Mean less than a morning's lark

For in wakeful sleep one may dream,

Of the sun's life shining

In all its sheen.

Winter's maiden does call to me;

A promise of wakeful sleep,

To set me free

And in sleeping awake I now know

All that I might say is gone,

Now I can only show.

0 views0 comments

Recent Posts

See All

When the muses leave, what is left but silence? The abysmal comfort, the unending sleep- when the muse leaves where I go to find it? With what rapture, what song- may I sing now in the day that lasts

The wanderer, the seeker All are all the weaker For they fail to see the world’s telling brand The simple sound of one hand….

I wonder, I wonder If in the depths of our slumber, We ever dream to cease our ceaseless number. Perhaps our questions are naught but answers, Perhaps answers are naught but questions, Our pride is pr