Saturday, April 28, 2012

sleep (eric whitacre)

The evening hangs beneath the moon, a silver thread on darkened dune.
With closing eyes and resting head; I know that sleep is coming soon.
Upon my pillow, safe in bed, a thousand pictures fill my head, I cannot sleep , my mids aflight; and yet my limbs seems made of lead.

If there are noises in the night, a frightening shadow, Flickerering light;
Then I surrender unto sleep, where cloads of dream give second sight.
What dreams may come, both dark and deep--
of flying wings and soaring leap?
-As I surrender unto sleep.-

-dark and deep-
...dark, unto sleep

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