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Imagination
A stab of noise in the dark,
Draws me back into consciousness,
I have been in my imagination,
Where dreams are real,
I am pushed into the shrill cry,
?Mummy?
It is gone before I get to you,
You are gone again,
In the land where anything is possible,
You are curled up under your blanket
Asleep again.
This is the poem your mother couldn?t write,
I write it for you now,
While I am in my imagination.
Very good
There's something ineffable about this one, some strange haunting quality I can't quite place. I'm left curious and saddened by whatever situation prompted you to write it, but as a poem, I like it...very much.