Little drunken moments of meaning
appearing like a mist
over a barren field
a haze
offered like a sacred space
for feeling to run abundant
and uninhibited
like the
circle formed around a fire
that spins an intoxicating story
when we allow ourselves
the impossibilities
of freedom, truth and greatness
when we feel like the otherness
that is cut into us like a scar
is more tangible and real than our lives
then the morning comes
and the mist dissipates as we wake
into the more redundant world of sobriety
but wouldn't you rather die free
fighting for something impossible
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