was a dream

of summer nights with toxic sleep

perspiring into notch as weep

yet magic paradox, tis true

this phase is not when you are you

for here, the stars might pluck from air

as though the ether were not there

occasions when would wish no end

but others, never devil send

and so the story must unfold

throughout millennia has been told

to clarify what could reveal

existence, such a glimpse to steal

then to wake perhaps, or sleep

was a dream, or justly weep

©HeyHey 2013