Hypnos holds your eyes each night. He presses your chest and makes soft and slow your breath. He silently scatters succor over your mind. Sweet silent oblivion awaits you each night. It is no accident that his brother is death.
Mother Nyx with her star-dappled mantle onlooks.
The sons of Hypnos will interrupt their father’s work. Omens and mysteries and memories and half-truths will pierce the perfect black behind closed lids. Still, though, we are prepared for the oblivion awaiting us all because of the blank spaces between dreams.
Thanatos, brother to sleep, is ever near.