Poem: The Sacrament of Sleep

What happens in the silent spell
between the dusk and dawn?
Upon this darkness long I dwell
now that the day is gone.

Methinks that half the world is mad, 
the other half's insane, 
and for this silence, I am glad.
The darkness heals the pain.

The night is holy, so I say, 
and sacraments are dreams; 
Now on my bed, myself I lay, 
and pray the dream redeems.