Morpheus has never been kind to me His somniferous ways leave me wanting Grasping at the cusp of a reality As evanescent as the morning mist That greets this reluctant gaze.
He exists to these sheathed Bourbon eyes Within the veiled carapace Of the only form I've ever wanted more Than necessity and air. His torment lies In false reunions, in joining and parting lips In forest eyes that linger behind in my thoughts Like the echo of a cannon Long after it's wrought its own havoc.
Yes, that twisted Lothario That Grecian sandman Exists to overcharge the soul with Hope so poisonous Bodies and minds are wracked with it Inspired by it Haunted on into the waking world Where he waits on the periphery Eyes narrowed in the light Of the waking world that renders him useless.
*Morpheus is the god of dreams in Greek Mythology.