Skip to main content

Lullaby, lullaby

Sleep is the sleep of innocents, of angels
Sleep is beneath an arbor of silken bedclothes
Sleep is a mound of fragrant rose petals
Sleep is the sleep of Beauty in her bower

The sun is glowing molten white through frosted glass
By the time I am done with my shower the room is almost dark

Then it is time to climb into a mound of silken bedclothes cloaked in deep curtains
And yearn for restorative sleep

Sleep is the sleep of the restless
The burning
Endless dark moments in a cold void
Peering out from bedclothes into the dark
Fearfully
Going downstairs
Eating
Writing in my journal
Terribly awake now
I am out of the house before the sun rises
And my eyes are burning and my face looks old
Because the sleep of innocents and angels has become a fairy tale

Sleep is the sleep of Beauty in her bower, Rapunzel in her tower
Her long, long hair bound in a tight golden diadem
Sleep is long slim hands clinging to silken white pillows
Breathing softly in tandem to the gentle wind swaying the curtains
Inhaling the scent from the roses climbing the stone wall
Sleep is the sleep of the princess
The sleep of Beauty

Popular posts from this blog

The secret to a happy home

I finished Marion Harland's guide tonight and I wonder ceaselessly at two things. 1. She is so down on America! Even more than I am. She complains of things in which I am so well-steeped I could not see them for what they were. In particular, American style and cookery. It is true that our food, which we count as so much more generous in portion than the overseas counterpart, is as coarse and indecorous as it is plentiful, but as an American woman I cast up my hands and declare I would rather spend my time on something else. She makes an interesting point about American women's fashions. In France women wear what looks good on them, and in America women wears what comes off the manufacturing line in the latest style. It is very conformist, and I have to admit I feel it in myself, for I would be embarrassed to wear something that is "out" even if it flattered me better. 2. Harland's other point I feel clearly from last night's experiences. I looked in my journ...

Sprouts

Sprouts Originally uploaded by ladyhildegarde . I am getting sprouts. Hopefully they are carnations. It is such a beautiful spring day. It's good I'm taking the chance to come outside: I have craved a moment to reflect on something beautiful.

Poor sleep and bad dreams

I had a bad time of it last night. Going on two weeks now, I haven't felt right. I think though I don't talk about it that I haven't been right since I found out about Mrs. Mark. Lately I have been awakened in the middle of the night by Jonah's frights. I have to turn on the lights to check on him, and this normally wakes me up thoroughly. I can't not check on him because the thought that he might have hurt himself keeps me awake. Last night he was on the perch and the other two were on the floor, looking frightened. Why's my bird have to be such a pain in the ass? Why do I love him almost more than any other living thing? And I don't dream in my sleep so much as think, and it's never of anything calming: either of an error in one of my projects, or something just gruesome.