The evening hangs beneath the moon.
A silver thread on darken dune.
With closing eyes and resting head
I know that sleep is coming soon.
.
Upon my pillow safe in bed,
A thousand pictures filled my head.
I cannot sleep,
My mind's aflight
And yet my limbs seemed made of lead.
.
If there are noises in the night.
A frightening shadow.
Flickering light.
As I surrendered my mind to sleep,
Where clouds of dreams give second sight.
.
What dreams may come both dark and deep,
Of flying wings and soaring leap,
As I surrender my mind to sleep.
Sleep...
.
.
-Eric Whitacre
