Le Roi Du Sommeil Poem by Lord Dylan ParrishSubda of Sealand

The rain, she calls like the tears of the man of timely sand
who begs in earnest for my unattainable slumber
in hopes that, should I dream at all,
such might be of her for whom my beaten heart longs.

True, I speak in stricken love, and
true, I dream things that ne’er shall be,
but my ambition is Icarean
though the truth be not of dreams.

I pray thee, titan of time,
I beg thee, sultan of sleep,
make my dreams reality
that all might be as it seems.