The Drain
I poured a dream into the drain, and watched
As soul-soaked years dripped cold away, away,
To ne’er return; another mixture botched
And cast downstream, polluting some lost bay.
Each time I’d think the new concoction right
To act as panacea for malaise,
Yet fail, in chemistry, to fit bonds tight,
Thus tainting tinctures meant to spirits raise.
Yet, as the sullied water whirls, I find
The fault of method which hath held me bound:
My wish to brew a dream and to it bind
When dreams should not be brewed instead be found.
With opened pores I drain myself in streams
To live within the waters of all dreams.