Upon the Midnight Drought of Sleep
Published on Wed, 7th Oct 2026 at 22:51
Upon the midnight drought of sleep my memories lower their guard, and as the tempest calls my name, the winds bellow their woes; what of me did you love? what of me did you see? what of me prevails in tones as your music all but plays? As I toss upon the stone of despair my soul forsakes enmity, and as the fears sail the sweat, I ache with a forest of dreams! Yet what of me can be loved? what of me is deserving? what of me is left to find? can I truly be loved, or love?
