Even a Devil

Even a devil sleeps.
It slumbers spread-eagle on the ground.
Its tail is lax and curled,
Its red body heaves with ease,
And its pitchfork lays unbidden.

The devil's face is slack,
The lines of hate are less defined,
The hellish eyes are lidded,
And no remorse mars its figure.

Even a devil knows peace in sleep.
Even a nightmare is preferable,
To the tortures of wakefulness.

A night of horror can still bring rest.
Even a devil is spared insomnia's hell.