Pipedreams Poem by gershon hepner

When from our pipedreams we awake
and find we’re misbegotten,
and soberly begin to shake
and fall like fruit turned rotten,
should we regret we cannot dream
away our lives and find
in smoke and drink a way to seem
what we are not? The mind
abandons dreams that we have dreamt,
abhorring pipes and drink,
a puritan that, hard to tempt,
says: “Do not dream, but think, ”
resisting the unsober charm
of smoke that clouds our eyes,
rejecting the enchanting balm
that helps us fantasize.