Sleep is a death each time it befalls us.
We are gone, simply gone, when we fall and lose consciousness.
How long is a death?
An eternity, until it is broken, when we are woken.
To awaken half-risen,
without arousing the faculties,
the mind desires to turn.
Where are you, who are you?
The mind searching to remember.
And so that Renaissance which you alone found,
the great stretch of the body and mind,
became a memory,
and sleep brought death upon the spirit which you once joyfully claimed.
Can you reclaim it?
Try as you must, or continue as dead.
There are no great victories,
because they are all so many, so small.
The small victories,
day by day,
build the fortress over death.