Hermit to emperor

If you lay down your head to rest,
do you feel my heartbeat
as the way to dream?

With your head on my chest,
I no longer feel hemmed in
by my own inner void,
that never fills the same space.

For me too, in that moment,
the road to sleep is open,
to a world incorporeal;

a world living
in images,
breathing colours
hardly in existence.

By your hands, when they lead me
down that road, the waking greys are lifted
and I am freed from being unheard, unread,
a mere stepping stone to elsewhere.

But if I utter not, act not,
why then should I be heard?
I cloister myself,
until I come to your hands again,
once more find the nest to rest.

I can only be Emperor
if you are yourself unvaulted
and in all times
can dream on my chest.