Getting lost in a peaceful bliss
Feeling the touch of ethereal slumber
A lightness not found on Earth
A heaviness without weight or girth

The world is in tatters
As if any of that matters
People will pay a pretty pence to live like mad hatters
The desire to take a step off their ladders.

Shelving desires
To hit tire shaken pavement
Repressing soapbox fires
To burn it down and ask where it all went
Only knowing a bit of sleep now would be heaven sent
Wondering if what is good is what was spent

Stability for the shaken
Solitude for the solemn
Sound for the speechless
Surrender for the soldiers
Smoke from the smolders

Who goes full throttle when you can capture the past in a bottle?
Fact to concede to the calm.
Fatigue to carve out the comatose.

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