He never told her, but he knew she knew
He was turned inside out, entirely askew
She is the dream he was never granted
They never reached the land enchanted
As he longed for her touch, but forbidden
She was the perfect poem, never written
Rather than die, he'd lingered in dreams
Never again waking, yet barely sleeping
He could never again ever really sleep
For they'd an urgency, and reminders
All of his dreams remained unfulfilled
And if at this moment sleep occurs
His precious dreams will begin again
And his dreams will defy his will
