When I am lain to rest and my soul is no longer intact, but dissolving, like a sunset diminishing to the west ...
and when at last before His throne my past is put to test and the demons and the Beast
await to feast on any morsel downward cast, while the vapors of impermanence cling, smelling of damask ...
then let me go, and do not weep if I am left to sleep, to sleep and never dream, or dream, perhaps, only a little longer and more deep.
Published by Romantics Quarterly and The Chained Muse. This is an early poem from my βRomantic Periodβ that was probably written in my late teens. Keywords/Tags: death, eternity, eternal rest, sunset, west, demons, beast, judgment, sleep, dream, nightfall, night, throne, vapor, vapors, impermanence