Imaginarium
My school had a lengthy class
But they were all as such.
One teacher took us places;
She did not need to say much.
Along the white line to nowhere
I stood quietly as was trained,
But black ink shot out of my pen
And my classmates complained.
In the quiet of my bedroom
I covered pages with imagination
Until I was warm with thoughts
And traveled every nation –
To mountains new to my eyes,
To ocean depths I had never been,
To temples and public houses
And faces I had never seen.
“I felt the senseless rage drain
From every pour in my body
Until the plunder of my soul
Could no longer rescue me!” …
My adrenaline soared off a cliff,
I murdered for a woman’s hand,
My ears rang from the applause,
And none of it actually happened.
“The thoughts of rest slowed,
Slowed long enough for the wind
To move from the golden hills
Until the walls of my heart thinned.” …
And, I had boxes and boxes of stories
Stacked for any willing editor.
But the flow of the process stopped,
Like a dam destroying a river.
Springs and summers passed,
Until every season felt like winter.
While I had balanced out each day,
The library was my single adventure.
Until one day, a sunrise surprised me!
I peeked over the mailbox with delight,
An acceptance shined on a story of old –
Imaginarium! And, I continue to write.
“According to [Jack] London’s biographer Alex Kershaw,
the library was the boy’s ‘preferred classroom,’…” – Aleta George
[Also publish in Synchronized Chaos
Magazine, September, 2015.]
