The Dream

Having awoken from a nightmare's fright I sit in bed and stare into the Night. I shudder deeply at my own soul's spark that called upon such visions from the dark. The sins I have committed in my dream, are they my work? And are they, what they seem? Alas, what this bad dream to me reveals is bitter truth, is what my soul conceals. I, by the uncorrupted judge's word, have of the blotches on my nature heard. Cool from the window Night is breathing through and shimmers, fog-like, in a greyish hue. Oh sweet, bright day, please come and enter free and try to heal what Night has done to me. Oh day, through me do all your sunlight send so that, again, before you I may stand. And make me, even if it is in pain, of this bad hour's horror free again!