It could be that a thousands dreams
Could never save a lost soul;
For once the sleeping being is waked,
Those fantastical thoughts are forgotten.
And lying in one’s reality,
Moving yet stilled by the night occurrences
The mind grapples to remember,
To glimpse,
Only a vision of what could be
While knowing full-well what is.
And in this stillness
The world is at large,
Waiting in the conscious hours
For one more innocent
To lose its way.
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