The Dreamless Bed

Hold my head upon that pillow,
And await the foretold morrow,
Yet wish to dream no dreadful sorrow;
What a soulless mind that lies dead,
Weeping aside that dreamless bed.

If the moon glances the peaceful sea,
As a bridge between a woeful tree,
Why whence dim that shining entity?
What a marvelous skin that once bled,
Now caressing that dreamless bed.

I lay upon that charted floor
That tends to leech my vision's lore,
Entrapping me within its bore;
I am not wrong to fold that weary thread,
But to falter in that dreamless bed.

Though the sun shall bloom soon,
After that gentle quiet moon,
And I awake from that hopeless doom;
I did not dream what lies ahead,
When I slept in that dreamless bed.