A flood in my dream
ignites the moon to calm,
distant waves going
elsewhere and back.
Swept away by tears shed,
anew into a man’s hollow cup.
Not filled with spirits,
but with desires long unforgotten.
May all our sorrows be unremembered,
as our cheers, tears, and laughter
succumb to tormented moments
we are never able to realize.
To the ones awake,
we are the dream.
And to those asleep,
we are the dreamers.
Without focus,
without direction,
we are lost and wandering souls,
trapped in a fleeting moment called eternity.
Nay! We aren’t drunkards,
nor men drowned by dizziness.
This is our choice.
We decided this.
May our livers be forgiving,
one day,
as our wives hold the pans and spatulas,
awaiting our stupored return.
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