Sleep, the Cousin of Death.

In twilight’s grasp, I lay my head,
Upon the softness of the bed.
A quiet whisper calls my name,
In sleep's embrace, I feel the same.
As death, it waits with gentle breath,
Sleep, the cousin of silent death.

The night descends, the stars align,
A fleeting dream, a subtle sign.
That life is but a fleeting flame,
Extinguished soon by time’s own claim.
But in that space where shadows creep,
We find ourselves within deep sleep.

The world of wakefulness drifts far,
Beyond the reach of any star.
Our bodies lie in peaceful rest,
While spirits float, forever blessed.
And though we wake with morning’s kiss,
Sleep hints at death’s eternal bliss.

For in this state of dreamless night,
The soul is wrapped in tender light.
A calm, a peace that’s hard to keep,
Awaits in every night of sleep.
And as we close our eyes in trust,
We drift to realms of quiet dust.

Sleep, like death, removes the pain,
It washes clean the mind’s refrain.
The troubles fade, the sorrows cease,
As we surrender to its peace.
For both have power, both have grace,
To take us from this worldly place.

The pulse of life begins to slow,
The breathing soft, the heart below.
And in that space of deepest rest,
We sense the presence of death’s guest.
A fleeting visit, soft and brief,
But there is comfort in this grief.

Oh, sleep, you guide to what’s unknown,
A bridge to lands where none have flown.
In dreams we taste what’s yet to be,
In sleep, we glimpse eternity.
The soul escapes, it flies away,
To where the dawn gives birth to day.

The wise have said that sleep’s a friend,
A gentle guide to death’s own end.
For death is not a fearsome thing,
But quiet as the birds that sing.
A final sleep, a final peace,
Where all the world’s sorrows cease.

Yet, still we fear that endless night,
The loss of breath, the fading light.
But sleep prepares us, night by night,
For death’s sweet touch, its quiet flight.
It teaches us to let things go,
To trust in time, to trust the flow.

And in that trust, we find release,
A place of rest, a place of peace.
For every sleep brings us a taste
Of death’s own calm, of life’s erased.
But fear not, friend, this gentle guest,
For sleep and death are both a rest.

We sleep, we dream, we live, we die,
And in that cycle, time does fly.
But sleep remains our soft retreat,
A cousin to death’s silent beat.
It whispers truths we cannot hear,
In dreams that bring both joy and fear.

We fear the night, we fear the dark,
Yet sleep leaves us with but a spark.
A spark of life, a taste of death,
A whisper with each stolen breath.
For death is close, but sleep is near,
And both will come without our fear.

So close your eyes, embrace the night,
Let sleep bring you its quiet light.
For in that light, the darkness fades,
And death, though feared, no longer weighs.
Sleep, the cousin of death’s sweet song,
Will guide us all before too long.

With every dream, we glimpse the veil,
A place where even life is frail.
But death and sleep are not the end,
They are but steps we must transcend.
To realms unknown, to fields of grace,
Where time and space leave no trace.

The cousin comes, with hands so soft,
It cradles you and lifts you aloft.
To places far, where none return,
Yet there, no longer do we yearn.
For in that place where sleep meets death,
We find the quiet, lasting breath.

So rest, dear soul, in sleep’s embrace,
There’s no rush, no frantic pace.
For when the time for death does come,
You’ll meet it like the rising sun.
A gentle wave, a final sigh,
And there, in sleep, you too will lie.

For sleep, the cousin of the end,
Will come to you as a dear friend.
To guide you through the night’s deep blue,
To lands beyond, forever true.
So do not fear what lies ahead,
For sleep and death are never dread.

In sleep, we find a peaceful shore,
In death, we find there is no more.
No more of pain, no more of fear,
Just quiet calm, forever near.
So let sleep take you in its care,
And death, when due, will find you there.

For in the cousin’s arms, we rest,
And in that rest, we are our best.
No sorrow ling
ers, no regret,
Just peace, as in the sun’s last set.
Sleep, the cousin of death’s own breath,
Leads us gently to our final rest.