Should I dream the impossible dream?

Must I tilt at ghostly opponents whirling

in a fevered mind? Do I have a scheme

wherein equity, as moral waters purling,

in bureaucratic ears will become to seem

a roaring, horrifying torrent swirling?

To follow a star, no matter how far, in fact.

Is it just that mare that carries dreams to hell,

fills the dying dreamer in dying’s final act

with that opiate of hope;  how can I tell?

And yet dream impossible dreams to extract

sanity from the toll of shared delusion’s knell.

Shall I in common madness dwell a dreamer,

so far apart and yet so near, so near to god?

Or shall I, the dreamer, pretend blasphemer,

a soiled soul, who rides his steed unshod?

It seems the finer health befalls a daydreamer,

true righteousness is that ideologue’s facade.