Gentle Sleep

From above, a booming, thunderous crash

– the thump-thump-thump of hell

What, perchance?

Missiles, war, angry angels?

No –

’tis the ungainly strides

of the looming folk o’erhead.

My sleep – it is unwell.

For to ask of those in higher places

to tread less heavily

I fear their wrath to chase.

Nay, tonight my sleep shall break anew

Whilst above, large feet will tread.

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