Damisela,   

What do dreams reflect, and these are far better than any waking moment.  When I dread looking unto the mirror.  The sight that greets me somehow, strangely tolerable.  And my fears are put to rest in the meantime.  Must I smother myself in sleep?  For it becomes harder to breathe.  A similar horror goes well with weeping: difficulty in opening these eyes for the tears spilt during fitful tossing and turning, a wicked night.  Unaware that I was the vessel of shame within fleeting moments otherwise cherished.  Now I am tinged with the hidden meaning of your name.  Resonating from the ether of being unfulfilled.  Until my lips part and an inner angel deems it right to weaken.  The chasm unfurled betwixt damnable wakefulness, and chaste sleep.  Thus, I am frightened.  
Have I crossed the threshold of the Broken, of malign, irreversible madness?

These two figures have stolen my sight.  And returned me unto the birthplace of our Mother.  Though the one behind me reaches right, parting the sky with bone-thin arms.  Asking for a reprieve; somewhat granted, for in a little way: the vault was left open.  And more of Her weeping. Yesterday was a solemn hearkening - and today it would be forgotten.  The earth’s nocturnal blanket of purity leaves no remains, forgives all that has been claimed.  But still, the unrepentant Aegis lashes every so often.  Giving us no respite.  
No other choice but to seem under and flinch from the pain.

The ether, of two days hence.  Caught the pregnant Luna helpless at her thickest.  Kind of an embrace without escape.  Somewhat an endearing Oblivion.  How did she let this happen?  The horror unglanced provokes unwanted sympathy.  The nearing when I should have been there to breach such longing: and be the witness to the birth of a pyre, the empyrean beginning.

An alienation undetermined, you and I pushed to far corners.  Incarcerated a Presence seeks.  More from this lowly servant than he could ever endure.  Exacting punishment hence a quartet of weeks has garnered; and such schemes must never see birth!  For in dishonor there is no reward.

In the sense that all of Wish as wildflowers a bouquet gathered, for a more luminous Sol his burning gaze.  
In dreadful yearning, never have I longer burned!  The vision unobscured has acted as venom against the accomplishment of final resurrection.

Where amongst the death of Dreaming does respite truly lie? Where is the glimmer of hope that was a child-of-promise to each of us withhold?  Dearest, I am possessed of Hunger, and these frail bones tire.  Waiting upon the shattered window for her argent wings to lull into complacency.  Though these eyes close, and breath comes shallow -- must a paean be sung once more for Death? This very form assured bereft of guardian, and thus vulnerable in the potent darkness. There is none to comfort him.  A paradox of unveiling, surely in a few, unblessed hours.  I shall be given the command to Rise.  Pitiful and wretched: surely they must know that she hath not seen fit to visit me; that I’ve not felt the bite of sleep.

The Broken have taken their leave, the walls are bitter, sleek.  For fear becomes Companion; when under duress my secret safe, (Eyes of Heaven forbid!) be shared.  Unaccustomed to the grim, senseless prattling and snails’-pace torture of pleasantry stifling.  Majesty grants not a quiet demise.

When in his roaming there was an image of you.  
The grace captured in an age of stillness, clear and unblemished.  A vision in black hose -- this worthless peasant took courage, and gazed upon it; longing with wretched abstinence.  Bestowed by the mythic curse of separation: how soon shall his fortis be restored?  Breaking through and banishing the ghosts of keening Mnemosyne, and in faith I seek only you.

Epilogue:

Pardon these excesses, for they must seem to be awful lies!  With the stumbling for a mirror-image whilst in repose.  This your man true would in willingness return to you.  And dissolve into the abased pool of lyric that needs must be swoon.  In fatal error, and crushing sorrow have I called unto you. Amongst dreams are we still ever so closely hounded by elements set down by Tradition: the trinity of morals that bind us head to foot.  When freedom portends not a choice - let me breathe once in a while and be my own.  For beyond the gray the strains have reached, and resistance is futile.  The agony of years in exile: in my madness I am truly at home. Thus, the illness beckons, your Grace: and this stubborn, besotted dog awaits your amused reply.  News from the capitol has reached us; she the Doppelganger hath not replaced your luminescence in these eyes ... Nearer to Life, farther from taint of la sombra, your most faithful servant strangled by such undeniable Canon: I remain,
                                                                                                                      
Truly Yours,
Christian