Mine is the silent prayer of a burdened heart,

That regardless of monumental fatigue,

May I not encounter sleep.

For if I slip, if I mistakenly find – even fitfully sleep,

It is almost inevitable, that I dream.

That I may not sleep, to witness the torture,

Of being with you in another realm,

Happier than a child’s laughter,

Lighter than summer clouds,

Brighter than the dazzle of gold, in which the miser delights.

That I may not sleep and be led to a false belief,

Of other times, and of sunnier climes,

Only to wake up to the freeze of a silent room,

And the desolation of an empty bed,

Wet with the weight of unshed tears,

Totally alone…