Wake Up My Imagination

Poem written by moneygrubber14 on Tuesday 9, October 2018

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A short conversation with my long sleeping imagination

Overall Rating: Not Rated

This writing has not yet been rated and therefore this information is not yet available.
Let me take you for a walk today. It’s been awhile since you were last awake, many things have changed. Those leaves that you loved to watch sprout and bloom have lived a life on their own. They look fake now, their streetlight-soaked skin taking in the fluorescent appearance of where they get their nutrients. Isn’t it nice and quiet out tonight? It’s much too far along in the fall for this warmth, and the reality of that scares me, but having you here to show it to makes things much easier to bear. We switched to tea in your absence. The barreling energy brought about by coffee wasn’t helping anyone. I needed to find a way up, but that coal colored drink was only concerned with propelling me forward. I’m sorry, I’m talking to myself. I’m not used to having you with me like I used to. Remember the pink haired space alien outside my window? Or the planet full of dogs that made ice cream instead of milk? I think about them both often nowadays. They’re couched in the childhood they came from. Turns out memories shimmer and shine blindingly bright; right before they fade away. What did you dream about while you were asleep? Did you see the worlds we built? Or were there greater adventures waiting for you? I still take in things the way we used to: cracking brick walls that bleeds mortar; a fog that holds your hands with dew to warm itself up; a row of streetlights beaming with confidence in the summer nights. Those thoughts brought me closer to you, in a time when I never thought I’d see you again. I don’t know how long I’ll get to be with you before you sleep again, life has been a terrifying world without you here. Will you show me the worlds you saw in your sleep? Will you take me to the place where we first met? Barreling down a hillside on a metal sheet where the snow shined its handles into a reign for the horse-headed space ship we launched into the night? It's alright. I can see you're tired. I’m glad that you’re okay. And even if it’s a long time until we get to see each other again, I’m happy for the time we’ve had together. I love you. You showed me how to see the stars in the night as a destination instead of as a ceiling. Thank you my imagination, Good Night.

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    Rather sad it left me after reading. But if a story touches your feelings, it's good!
    I'm sorry I can not give you a rating. My knowledge of the English language is simply not sufficient enough.
    Money, my standard poetry disclaimer: I'm rather old fashioned when it comes to poetry: I actually favor Poe, Marvel, Coleridge, Wilde, and the Roberts Frost and Service, to give you some idea. To me, even free verse should have a flow and rhythm when read aloud to distinguish it from spoken prose. When reading a poem, you should almost hear the music that would make it a song. This isn't a poem in my view, but that doesn't mean it isn't very good writing with a lot of imagination (guess shem paid a return visit). However, read aloud I didn't hear the music. It actually sounds like a reunion with an old lover not entirely gotten over, which was probably intended. Rather bittersweet nostalgia. Write on.

    '... cracking brick walls that bleed(s) mortar;'

    PS My claiming this isn't a poem is pretty good evidence that it is what passes for poetry recently. We need a new term for things like this that are distinct from real prose yet not really verse.
    I liked this. An excellent essay. And, after all, imagination is at the root of all fiction and story-telling.
    I enjoyed this more upon reading it again.
    I also felt is was missing some metre, somewhere.
    But then my lack of real writing intelligence would lead me to believe it doesn't need a thing.