Journal

Insomniac's Journal

Words birthed in the internal

His subconscious' dunk-tank

These words remained unranked

Articulate the contemplations

Of these waking frustrations

Pen in hand

Sleep be damned

These are the greatest thoughts in the land

But why do they come at 4 in the morning

Must write them down

And heed the warning

His memory won't serve him as well when he wakes

If only he knew what was at stake

Words, Words, and more still left to come

Cannot stop till he sees the sun

Sunken eyes

Blood shot red

Sleep finally comes to the walking dead

Monday, June 3, 2013

Imaginative Nonfiction

Kids are like Kings
With advisors and thrones
Kingdoms stretching from here to there
Holy knights and impenetrable Bones
With the world at their feet
And shifting scepters in their hands
With imagination
They rule
The entire land
The long lists of battles
They have won
With hands tied behind their backs
Goes on Ad infinitum
Of gilded glory
They do not lack
If left to them
Their legend would include
All the dragons they have slayed
All the curses they elude
All the maidens they have smooched
And all the armies that they’ve led
These are not just whimsical tales
Read before bed

No
This is a world existing three feet off the ground
A beautiful thing
Where adults are not found
Because their skepticism
Always bears a heavy weight
This is fact not fiction
Children’s truth
Exists in gaseous state
It cannot be easily trapped
Or forcefully examined
But it holds strong

Sitting just three feet off the ground

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