Arnold Henry Poet Crown of Sonnets

A Wave of My Hand

I wave my hand and the misery that cramp the space in my vision melts into pastels. The 
sky twinkles with morning stars and the clouds that dot across the horizon seem reachable. 
With a breath, I create a breeze that races across a meadow filled with tall grass. Lifting lose 
dried blades, that dance to the melody that replaced the screams in my head.
Emancipated from the stress that held me hostage to a reality counterfeited from past 
suffering. Disrobing the attire that identified the roll played, to an assembly of fools that only 
believe what they see. The truth is the rabbit pulled from the hat; the illusion is the hand that 
holds the rabbit. What we are to believe, that imagination is the playground of evil and we 
except our surrounding as Godly.
How is survival possible, in a reality that plays tricks on your sanity? Feeding information out 
of order, challenging dreams and awakening you to your nightmare. Having you hypothesize 
from the only data made available, from a system designed to enslave. 
When there is no knowledge to where you exist, questions are not necessary and anarchy is 
a word without definition. However, with a wave of my hand, I can travel to the pleasures of 
my thoughts. Letting my imagination take me to places that I only vision in my dreams, 
picking the rolls I will dress up to play. To an audience that has liberated their minds to view 
the truth.
No more questions, I have realized the power that controls my universe, and with just a 
wave of my hand...I am it.////

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