In Dreams

What can be captured in wakeful states
Is necessity, not choice
The equilibrium often dictates
Without a voice
Tucked within forgotten dreams
A tense all too terse
As the lucid love of moonbeams
Delivered in verse
Blood rushing to cherub cheeks
Abashed in innocence
Bracing against the rhythmic creaks
Is hidden common sense
The days are made to follow on
As the abandon of empty flasks
The contents considered a certain con
Of misremembered tasks
Throw caution with muddied hands
Linger there, then speak
We have surrendered to your demands
Ending each day too weak

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