The thunder roars

in my ears,

the soft echo

of the quiet spring

gone.

Then comes the plop

of rain and 

the smell

engulfs me.

There is nothing

I like better on

a hot 

muggy day then to sit

and watch the lightning

dazzle across the sky,

sending rockets of light

into the furthest reaaches

of my imagination.

Then comes the darkness

and the movie

of my dreams playing before my eyes,

capturing all the fantasy

of my mind.

I am a story teller

of sorts,

hidden away in my 

dream land of

make believe

in the nonsense

of no sense,

of individual creations,

without rhym or 

reason.

I am a story teller

because that is what my mind deems

necessary for

my sanity.  My imagination

is my sactuary,

is what makes me

the unique

zany 

individual I am.

The hobbit,

Elf, hero, jedi

knight, princess,

Magi.

My imagination is

my haven

my freedom,

the place of unconditional

me.