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The Imagining

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  • The Imagining

    I created an imagination,
    A fantasy land.
    I bore it out of the rocks
    And into civilization.
    Out of imaginary dust, I created my beings.
    All was well with us.

    But I barely create a creature, before
    It turns to dust in my memory.
    There have been epic battles against evil;
    And the darkness won.
    What else is left to do, but forget?
    I turned by back on my imagination;
    But, I could not leave it.

    I returned, recently,
    Only to find my world grown dark and old,
    Dense gray and cold.
    Yet in the waves of biting wind,
    I found a spark, glowing like a lost firefly.
    Its light illuminated the death of my surroundings.
    I crushed it:
    And, with its light dying between my fingers,
    I stand in the darkness.

    I’ve grown tired of a fantasy-world.
    Last edited by LadyParadox; 01-29-2015, 09:31 AM.
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