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.////
Copyright © Arnold Henry | Year Posted 2010
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment