In the quiet simplicity of evening
to the electric awakening dawn,
many belonged to the vestige of night,
before city walls were drawn.
They kept fires of the night heatedly burning,
while others departed reality in their beds.
They protected against creatures of the night,
taming their own creatures within their heads.
Some dreamers need the passage of slumber
to pursue alternate realities.
Those flame dancers of the night need combustion
to remain untamed visionaries.
Eventually greed, brick, and mortar
fortified against the fiends and the ghouls.
Bright light, heat, and smoke was discarded
by all those daydreaming fools.
They labeled flame dancers dissenters,
giving cocktails of Ambien to sip upon.
They don’t fit into tidy cubicles called industry.
So, we drug them to wake at the dawn.
Dissenters know at the cellular level,
they’re visionaries of the night.
They don’t need dreams from Ambien
just turbulent, combustible light.