sleep is a humbling thing. a third of the day i am utterly vulnerable, so consistently unsafe. ironic then, is the refuge i find in it. how grand is the illusion of sleep – where in being unaware i feel safe.
what else can guard against my thoughts? what is that defence? boiling oil have i emptied onto bloodied tiles, trojan horses burned or welcomed in. archers line the battlements, but i don’t know where to point them.
so i shut my eyes, and embed myself in deep darkness.
You promise sleep, but i cannot rest. You promise rest, but i cannot stop. You promise to end all striving,
So what then is this battle? Who is my enemy? I have trouble distinguishing. Oh my self-sufficient pain!
Who is it that sits upon the throne within those walls? Help me run to Him! Have I not been granted audience? Sonship?
The king who reigns, rules beyond the walls! He alone can decide the design of the courtyard within, and tells me who my enemy is.
I do not guard these gates alone.