Sleep-talking: An Ode to Neil Gaiman’s Sandman

I asked the Dreamcatcher if she had met Dream and she laughed and told me,

you shall be addicted
you shall not want to go out and meet people
you shall only want to sit and read sandman
my god if i could afford them, i would dance the dance of joy!

So if my words sound a little odd, don’t think them so. I am just talking in my sleep.


Orpheus, son of Morpheus loved like few others

The Wounded Healer, he touched hearts when he strummed his lyre
And yet his song brought him no solace or peace
For words, when they are one’s own are just expression
But from another, they are the revelation of
The comfort of
And the warmth of
So his words, they flow from his bleeding heart
To soothe the pain of a hundred others
But his own will stay aching and sore
Till his lyre plays no more.


So God doesn’t sentence us to Hell then?
We do. We buy our own passports to the land of Eternal Unforgiveness
And we gift one-way tickets those that we love the most
As a fitting token for branding their selves
On our most precious possession of all – our souls
And alas, we forget that they carry it back with them when they make that fateless journey into the darkness.



Desire, treat me not as one of your own
I am a mere mortal but one with dignity; the pride of a few decades of consciousness
I am not a puppet of your whim, driven by your chemical frenzy
Nor an addict perishing when you leave me starved of your company
And perhaps, in anger at my impertinence in questioning you,

You move out of my heart in a huff
Only to secretly tiptoe back into my soul
And mingle your seductive whispers in my intuition
And now I’m not just a puppet
But a ventriloquist’s dummy that speaks the language of Desire.
Ah, cruel woman-man


Lucifer Morningstar, I always loved you
Even if He never did
But at least He put me in the universe
For you
…and the vessel for your talents.

Darling, I may be your canvas
But don’t you know that you, the artist, may define what’s on the canvas
But the canvas defines the artist – you as You.

So long as you don’t get that
You will stay Lucifier
Fallen Angel, Lord of the dark place below
And my own.



Isn’t it odd then, that of all the seven Endless siblings:Delight/Delirium
that the most compassionate one of them all
is the one that we meet at the very end?
And odder still,
is that we would rather
run into the realms of the others
than face her beautiful Ladyship.

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One thought on “Sleep-talking: An Ode to Neil Gaiman’s Sandman

  1. The Idea-smithy | People Person May 17, 2008 at 07:50 Reply

    […] social life? Perhaps the most people-person person I’ve encountered is Neil Gaiman’s Death. And then again, nobody loves anyone else that much, do they? To you I come at the very end I wait […]


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