Quiet dreaming, a sharpened blade
Soft silk bedding, stained a dark shade
You failed your design, your low stoop to resign
The beautiful black strands, are stained by my hands

The lips that were parted, the words were half-hearted
Tranquil eyes stare, forever held in their snare
Tears never shed, lying limp on the bed
Sheets drawn to the waist, eyes bound by a paste

Your hand, twisted, I smiled, I kissed it
Your lips once a red, now pale with the dread
Your soul is released, but won't ever find peace
Had to lay you to sleep, silent, nary a peep

Come beyond the bindings of Reality
Turn into the soul of Night, O Vespertine
Breath the air of Gods, tell me how it tastes
Bring a handful of soil from the Garden

~Lyne

Penned by my hand on the 11th of Lleian, in the year 96 MA.