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,
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