by Nick Gisburne
Impossible to wake, the sleeper dreams,
Enigma to the monitoring minds.
There can be no connection, but it seems
Whoever tries to trouble her she blinds.
A transient disturbance in the brain.
A fleeting incandescence of the eyes.
Across the brow a heavy, scarlet stain.
Retreat, the only remedy, is wise.
They fail to find with what she is possessed,
Or if, indeed, the power is her own.
Resistant to the probes of any test,
Her compass of control has quickly grown.
Impossible to wake, or cure, or kill,
The sleeper bears no malice. But she will.
