Imagination

A poem in sestina form, about growing up, some reverie.

When I was a child I saw beyond
the human context and the world.
I traveled far in my imagination -
dancing with stars, speaking with gods.
At times I even encountered ghosts.
Nothing was impossible.

As I grew I learned impossible -
one was not invited to see beyond
reality. So I stopped speaking of ghosts
and for some time tried to join the world.
Found my solace in one of the gods -
a shared imagination.

I took refuge in my imagination,
reveled in all that was impossible.
Always praying to one of the gods,
such a saint I was, far beyond
mere children. Devoted to the world,
closed my eyes to all the ghosts.

But now, who’ll be helping the ghosts,
who are forbidden and just imagination?
They’re traveling alone in the world
ignored as being simply impossible.
Who will ever dare to look beyond
the mysticism of the gods?

I finally gave up on one of the gods,
though I would not return to the ghosts.
They are still far too much beyond
my comfort zone of ’just imagination’.
But I know they’re not impossible
and soon I’ll join their world.

I’m opening my senses to the old world,
neither renouncing nor inviting the gods.
Once again nothing is impossible;
not magic, not demons, not ghosts.
Hail to thee, old friend Imagination!
I’m ready to travel beyond .

Come, Impossible! Join my world!
Let’s go beyond and speak to the gods.
Come, ghosts! Meet Imagination.