wind whistles
in the window…
Imagination
Well, they aren’t liars
so much as they have giant
imaginations
and I fall for the tall tales…
the snare drum throbs,
one foot presses the gas pedal,
one foot pumps the pedal
to the timpani…
Please attend my hurricane party,
it’s great because the storm
is me and my wild imagination…
I’d like to imagine,
some ancient person,
looking up to the sky…
It’s a bit fun,
to imagine a domino game effect,
not the toppling…
Imagine a story, which never quite ends, a book…
his sister finishes speaking,
and he pipes up,
and I’m stunned….
I don’t know what every part of me looks like,
I imagine the internal parts are a bit squishy…
Daily Poets 