SLUMBER

Slumber, 
that happening at night,
take hold the sheets, 
pull over me,
capture my dreams, 
breathe my breath 
in gentle streams of heart beats. 

The witching hour is nigh,
no stars, 
no flares of light,
opaque the purple sky,
as if the dawn were swallowed up for good,
would never show its face again,
becoming black oblivion. 

As I, one human being being, 
soon shall die. 

Silent trees let out a sigh,
sink senses 
tuned to other elements, 
rise up
the spirit's sentiments,
enfold my bed, 
lift up my head to see, 
one last glimpse 
into eternity.