Cascading rhymes of spectral prose
As dusk removes its daylight clothes
A slave within a dying prism
An artist happy in his prison
As frigid water aches my bones
I cannot help but feel at home
An urgency I must respect
Or drown on land in deep neglect
Through portals let your mind swim;
Liquid gates to premagination.
Ideas unthought and visions unseen;
Are yours to find and yours to capture.
Bring them, bring them, bring them here;
Imaginate the pregnant air…
Don’t you fly too low, little wingling in the shadows,
Naiveté will see your feathers sodden in the shallows
Don’t try and find the words, little wingling of the mind,
Analysis will blind you; absurdity unkind
Don’t you ever fear, little wingling in your youth,
Calamity comes for all, regardless of the truth
Yet don’t you lose your heart, little wingling of desire,
For all of us have nothing; until upwards we aspire