Vigil

All through the lonely hours of the night,
I pace the halls and sigh.
I refuse the prospect of dreaming of you,
For I am well-acquainted with Fantasy.
That passive whore will drain you
First of your passion, then of your sanity,
And once you have entered her labyrinth,
There is no turning back.
Should you knock on my door
With all your strength,
I still would not awaken from that terrible slumber.
So I will continue to pace these halls
Feeling the knife of doubt
Puncture my hopeful heart,
And when morning comes and my body is weary,
I will return to my room and lay on my unmade bed.
The morning light pouring through the window
Will coax me to fall asleep
As you once did with your caress.