The Sleep of the Faerie Queen by Greg Richards

The faerie queen, enfolded by her magic,
Slept a sleep not bound by time or space,
Dreams, coalescing, intersecting,
Tesselating, tesseracting,
Stringed and touching all dimensions,
Her eyes like stars,
Milky white and blue,
Looked far beyond
Mere corporeal horizon,
Hopped from star to star
In this world and the next,
Watched bright burning stars
White hot and yellow,
Burn out like candles,
Their mass consumed,
Heavy swollen remnants,
Smouldering echoes
Tinged red like blood,
That yearned with sorrow
For the Dark.
It was the dark that drove and fired,
The interstitial soul within
That lived half in and out
Of this world and the many nexts.
Yet despite the panoramic
Interdimensional splendour of her regard,
The frenzied madness of despair
Her words could wring
From mortal sorrow sung shriven souls,
It was the taste of his young lips,
On a green grassed bank
Beneath the warm caress
Of summer sun,
Lips fresh like fruit,
His life, seven score years or less,
Flickering firefly-like
For an instant
In the dark timeless passage
Of her immortal existence,
That resonated most
Deep within the depths
Of that endless dream.


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