The authority we keep in dreams
is a very singular thing.
The words themselves do not matter
the stance we take, a vicious ring.
And we wake up holding odd beliefs
our space of reason gone to rot.
The mouth of the speaker holds the brain,
and lets it run like a ball down a grooved track
critical thought is a chaos, and dreams are not chaotic things.

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Send your life out in multiple directions like a galaxy shedding stars. Always come back to hope and try to thrive. All posts, (poems, stories, essays, etc.) here are composed by my hand, unless noted otherwise. Please ask if you'd like to use one.

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