Ode to Hypnos
Lo Hypnos! God of slumber, I beg of you to grant me your cool air of comfort. I ask, because I am hexed to wander Mothers realm. What I once called my bed, a place of tranquility, has turned into one of longing desire. Allow me to sniff your vibrant reds and lay atop your sable black, so I may show my devotion by way of practice; I promise it will be upheld until I fall into the arms of your double. My accursed mirror counts the dark circles under my eyes. They are many, like a fallen oaks rings, and signal my timely exhaustion. Common remedies have become wasted time, counting sheep? warm milk? Bah! Oh, a fancy it would be to delve into uninterrupted sleep, to be lulled by the whip-poor-will’s ballad and awoken by the cheerful willow-tit’s melody. Hypnos! Bring me your sons in all their myriad forms to trick my somnolent mind. I call! I beg! because this home of mine has become neither friend nor foe, but a stranger. I`ve become more familiar navigating moonlit corridors than their daytime counterparts. Imagine being a foreigner to a land once called dear -- the absurdity! Curtains serve no purpose but to mock me, remind me of my fruitless efforts. Should I scream through these curtains and have not a soul hear? Or should I rest in my chair till the chariot bursts from the horizon? Nevertheless, I envy the ones that may exercise the freedom that my plague robs of me.