While I lie Sleeping

Summary

The text is a poetic contemplation on the enduring legacy of love and words, questioning whether they can transcend time and death.

Abstract

The author reflects on the future, a hundred years from now, pondering if their words will resurrect a lost love from obscurity or if they will become obsolete in a changed world. The narrative explores the power of memory and art to preserve love beyond life, envisioning a time when the writer's words and their beloved might coexist on a timeworn shelf, perhaps still vibrant or merely echoes of a life once shared. It touches on the theme of immortality through literature, the possibility of words outliving their creator, and the hope that these words might one day reawaken the author from their eternal slumber.

Opinions

The author muses on the potential for their words to freeze their beloved in time, suggesting that literature can act as a preservative against the decay of memory and death.
There is a concern that the significance of the author's words may be lost in the future, questioning whether the emotional weight they carry will be understood in a vastly different world.
The text conveys a belief in the enduring nature of love and its ability to survive through the "judgement of memory" and the interpretations of art.
The author considers the possibility that their words might continue the narrative of their life and love after death, breathing new life into the memories of their relationship.
A sense of hope is expressed that the author's words will not only be remembered but will also have the power to reawaken the author from their sleep of death, suggesting a form of literary resurrection.
The text suggests that the true test of the endurance of the author's words and love will come when both the author and the beloved are reduced to mere artifacts, and the living memory of them has faded.

While I lie Sleeping

… a hundred years from now

When I move on in time — indefinite, will you be remembered, will my words come out of the shadows and raise you into the youth of restless dreams

Or will the world have changed so much that my words of you would have no meaning, in the life I lost you to, they meant a world to come, for me. Do words die too, in immortal sleep?

Will my words have frozen you in time, where you had never died, and wistful smiles touch softly upon the boundaries of redolent chance — where our memories parted way, and the rose was consumed more by its scarlet flame then its lingering fragrance

Will my words give anaphora, to starry wings, on a hopeless night — that love endures through the judgement of memory, the expository renditions of verisimilar art

Will you come alive, while I lie sleeping, and I a miscopy of vague fortune, of diaphanous words and epilogues, sketch myself into your waking death, and warn you, my love, worn you — that night, is coming…

A hundred years from now when my writing lay’s upon a timeworn shelf, beside your pre-silenced words, lovingly, will they be as I left them, alive, Or will they have taken up our lives where death left off — breathing in the fragile eidolon of shattering air

How beautifully false does the night so shyly creep in, gently lowering the light, a run on sentence of falling stars and swaying moons an afterthought of wordless graphics — a hundred years from now, will my words die again, soon after

As I lie sleeping — in a narrow dream with a miniature horizon — without a language, without word, when I’m a just the sound of mispronounced literature, will I be able to keep you amongst the living, on that shelf so long forgotten breathing in the dust of woven air, between us — When I am all done and you are everything needed said, a hundred years from now… will you then awaken me?