Dreamers' Cocktail

And by the end,
we came to the conclusion
that only the ones who dreamed last night
are allowed a cocktail.

Shaken, not stirred,
with the essence of their midnight reveries-
a splash of starlight,
a twist of what-could-be,
garnished with a sprig of rebellion.

The bartenders of fate serve only the bold,
only those who dared
to venture beyond the veil of reason,
who let their thoughts play hopscotch on the Milky Way,
dipping toes into oceans of “what if.”

But those who slept
with their minds boxed in,
shuttered windows of possibility,
their glasses remain empty.
No drinks for those
whose dreams are too afraid to show their faces.

It is the dreamers who rule this hour.
The ones who saw colors that don’t exist
and heard music that hasn’t been written yet,
who built castles out of sighs
and marched armies of fireflies
through the endless field of stars.

Here’s to them�"
to the architects of fantasy,
to the painters of impossible portraits.
They raise their glasses high,
and the room swells with stories unspoken,
of revolutions brewing,
and love letters sent to galaxies
we have yet to meet.

So sip your dreams,
and let the cosmos swirl
on the tip of your tongue.
This is your toast,
your hour, your truth.

For only the ones who dreamed last night
are allowed a cocktail.
And the rest?
Well, perhaps tomorrow night
they’ll close their eyes
and dare to dream too.