
The Waker explores the cost of emotional suppression, a celebrates those who step out of it to speak when silence is expected.
So let’s speak, when we should. Like The Sleeper’s hero.
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In the kingdom where sleep’s veil holds reign
Where solemn winds through curtains spin,
I find the enchanted you, held by wires,
Your form alive, your mind expired.
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You the Sleeper, who calms the mind
Clear of anguish, free from time
I have browsed the ivy books
The ones they burned, the ones they took
Of moonlit graves, and marble stones
Where death dances, sorrow moans
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Your room painted, sterile blue
But violets call out to me too
So I speak, forbidden words
Those that haunt, that must be heard
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“Quivering, yes, the tomb does breathe,
Though it keeps pained memories beneath the leaves.
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Where beauty slept in her white dress,
Her grief was banned, but no less
My eyelids twitch once. The air is still.
They’ll banish me–to dearth, they will
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But I say this, from depth of heart,
She just sleeps well, did not depart.
They closed her eyes to dull her ache
Cloaked her in silence, spoke not her name,
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Nothing can hold what longs to feel
No rest can make the wound less real.
So rise my sleeper, with your pain
The moonlight shines, your blood remains
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Though the future does grow cold,
Your soul denied, your sorrow, old.
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