Mon, 02/01/2016 - 15:42 -- hfields


The salt that splashes so lightly on my lips,

Dripping from my head down to my fingertips.

The sun that shines so brightly upon my back,

The one thing that my old home used to lack.

A bird cries from above my head,

And when I look up I am sure I must be dead.



A clear blue sky stretches on in all directions,

White clouds dot the canvas as if they were projections.

I spin in circles and regret my chipper tone.

For when I finish spinning, I can see I am alone.

Nobody on this island but me,

Not a person or a boat, just some rocks and some trees.

Panic begins to settle in my chest and I feel it as it tightens.

The loud drumming in my head ever rapidly heightens.

How did I get here? How will I escape?

The panic I felt earlier has fully taken shape.


I sit beneath a palm tree with fronds that wave hello,

Wondering what I could do and where I could possibly go.

I have nothing to comfort me, nothing to lessen my worry.

By the looks of this little island, I'm going nowhere in a hurry.


I want to give up, to sit here in a pout,

But then I think of that one thing I can't live without.

That one little thing I've brought with me to this place,

The one little thing with no name and no face.

It's a thing that I can only describe as a magic.

It's a thing that only happens when I imagine.


With my imagination forever at my side,

I haven't a reason to sit down and cry.

I can imagine that I'm living in an old, fancy castle,

Sitting on a plush throne and relaxing without hassle.

I can imagine myself running through a garden of posies,

The soft squish of dirt as it falls between my toes.


As long as I can imagine, I have no fear of being on my own.

Perhaps, in the end, I won't even want to go home.

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