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

Labels

Labels:

Popular posts from this blog

New place

This is the second lunch I've passed in this downtown Barnes and Noble. I like this place. If I worked here I would undoubtedly come here for lunch. It is going to be hard forfeiting the hour and fifteen lunches, but normal life is less stressful than this. I am not cut out for city living. I still had driving troubles today. These one way streets are so difficult. I don't understand parking, and I like finding locations that I "cain't miss" from the road. Everything is so densely packed. Everyone else seems to have walked somewhere, but I celebrate lunchtime as the time to get as far away from the work as possble with as much comfort as possible, and Subway, I'm sorry, is not comfortable. Last night I slept from 7 p.m. to 5 a.m. when I had to call in. I have slept so much lately, but I feel in such a muddle. My head is pounding. If I were home I don't think I could put myself together enough to do any of my things. I really long to do things, too. Writing...
more &

Gervaise

1789 Gervaise was the first one to enter Delphinia's bedchamber. Golden light spread through a crack in the white curtains, throwing a lacey pattern onto the silk-shrouded bed. Delphinia lay in the finest guest bedchamber in the castle. It had been converted from the room of the dowager Markgrafin upon her death. Though Gervaise's entrance was not quiet, there was no stirring in the midst of the great bed. Gently Gervaise laid down the tray of chocolate and great cinnamon rolls and approached the bed, pushing aside the curtain to view the prone figure there. Delphinia lay in a contorted state, her limbs drawn up against her protectively, looking like a frightened child, though she was in the depths of sleep. Her hair, dark-colored, the finer strands gilded and curling around her face and brow, was mangled, freed from its pins without a combing. She wore a loose white shift, no nightgown. Gervaise was not offended by disorder or carelessness, but Delphinia's disarray gave he...
more &