Dreams of Poppies

are we but the narcotic dreams
from ancient poppies ground between
the the pestles and the galipots
of medieval alchemists?
and as such dreams may we partake
of conscious pleasures when we wake
to wander freely in the light?
oft denied us by the night
but what is truth, what may we see
to hold as our reality?
Is this existence all it seems
could we be more than fleeting dreams?