1. Sleeper
How does it feel
to be so silvery, small
yet permanent?
You, youngest, gentle, ever-forgiving,
underlie all that lives not with inevitability,
but rather sisterly concern.
You are that first whisper
trickling into the edges of the mind,
dulling pain and anxiety,
first enticing,
then imploring
with a single sweet chime.
You slip between the seams
of all that lives and grows,
washing between sighs,
breaths,
riding trails of weariness and despair,
unassuming and soft,
entreating just one
descending word:
Rest.
You intone it,
and all the world fades away,
warriors, writers,
all that listen
(and most that don't)
fall into warm, inviting dark.
A/N: Okay, so I said I wouldn't post any more poetry on this site. Yeah, apparently I lied. That's mostly because this one's part of a cycle, the first of seven.