The most welcomed dreams,
they float no matter
what the consensus.
A bit pinched by Oliver Twist
campaigns, maybe,
but they vote for helium.
For to laugh is to shine,
and to shine is to supernova,
yet, still fit inside the head.
The hours, they are
a cascade of melting candles
burning a hole in the floor.
The only words spoken,
"My Very Educated Mother
Just Served Us Nine Pies."
But how can that be?
We're now one short.
Oh, bucolic heavens!
I grew tired of wandering
and returned to reality
in the angry haze of another
orphaned satellite.
When interrupted dreams are lost to us, drifting out of our reach, never to return. Forever orphaned from our minds.