Sanctus, A Homeric Satire

O cruel light! Plague me not so with your stark
Intensity! Though glad I am the dark
Ghosts you chase away, be not pitiless
On my pain. That you do forever dress
My waking with unbridled beams and sights
Am I not ungrateful, a demon fights
With all ferocity within the strong,
Compacted confines of my mind, I long
For the embrace whence you brought me. Be great
In your great gift and release me yet late
From the bounteous endowments I lay
Peacefully among. Such visions were they!
Such delightful folly in their tender
Grasp! Vindictive! You interrupt! Render
Them once more unto me, I writhe and plea!
Your overwrought greeting takes what I see
With a swift and measured hand. I do shut
My eyes once more, that I might again put
The heavy curtain of sleep between might
And will - I want it not! Rob me of sight,
Whip from me that blanket of sweetest dreams
And I damn you to all Hell that vast teams
Of angels relinquish you to their sour
Instruments of torture! And though the hour
Is not late, I curse you and your disturbing power.

End.