OneironWhile night trots at the rims of the world steadilyher horse, frosty-maned, shaking it's gracious neck splinters of rime leaping, adorning the dark pool spilling it's inky waters over the entire world's surfacewith shards of cold-white light, shining so fierce it hurts I make my way trough the Gate of polished Horn, either the Gate of Ivory jewel as our liege the Hermes dictatesyet none will be greater than our Lord Hypnos, who generously bestows all creatures who wish it, without distinctions, with the rich gift of Sleep healer, forgetfulness, remembrance, amuse with master Morpheus travelling ever in my pa