Perchance I was dreaming, drawn from a dreary doze,
Sadly I was sleeping scheming but stricken from repose.
Stirred from a silence screaming, but it’s not what I chose,
Echoes of the nightly screening seeming to not disclose.
If I sought to scratch the seam, the sting of substance,
Thorny, thinly grasping any theme with great reluctance.
A gasp, agape, a gleam—wonder prevail with such insistence,
Surely there was a stream, still my memory slates resistance.
A brilliant blur, a beam of light, what had I just caught?
Unsullied sight, a seraphim, my mind’s eye had sought.
Quite daringly do I deem, the darkness had I fought,
A ruddy soul to redeem, indelibly was it wrought.
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