Like smoke the memories waft away ,

Seeking their own place to stay,

Their old home, is filled with dread,

Who'd want to live in my head?

Dreams, are the whispering sirens

Tempting me to follow their guidance,

But great things only happen inside,

Like ghosts they fade, when they come outside,

To cling to dreams that will turn to dust,

Is something that I must;

Do, or is it just my opinion,

That dreams are halcyon,

Though they really are misguiding,

Are dreams just beguiling?

The End

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