Do fear being intoxicated by the
fumes of our dreams, that
slithers into the air and
like snakes with fangs venemous
one bite is
addictive.

And there are dreams that are left suspended,
hovering like fireflies, dreams of undying light
but hang like pitiful apples from an
apple tree, that nobody wants to eat from.

Yet the whiff of a dream dying is
crippling to hope
because each dream is like a candle,
so you must let the flame burn,
the wax to drip-
drop
for you to make something of-
even if it is a little meek.