Imaginations - A Writer's Friend

Imagination

Sometimes, as my body becomes aware of life, for which I am ever thankful,

My bleary eyes, my deadened brain hears the chattering die away.

Characters of the night all start to scatter, leaping from the bed, a rabble.

Those that do not run, find places in my imagination, and there they stay.

Settled, hiding until some word, some sight, something brings them to spy.

They do not haunt me, for they know my mood of the mornings;

They know I can be bright, they know me foreboding like a stormy sky;

They know I need their company, and are kind to me and fear the warnings.

Slowly I come to grips with rising, my bones creaking in protest,

Eyelids demanding to be shut, closed to the day, just a little longer.

Then one of my head riding mates speaks of things for me to investigate;

A challenge is laid, and I have to rise to meet it, to prove me stronger.

They will not let me rest if things have to be spoken, words written,

And they know my slowness, my weary head, and they take over.

Mechanical fingers hit the keys, letters appear, the bug has bitten.

Off we go, my characters of the night and me, more to discover.

Wonderful gifts us humans are blessed with, imagination, though folly-

Is more than an escape, it refreshes the brain, enlivens the mind;

Stirs the soul, solves problems that may exist, creates friends to love,

And shifts enemies to another place where once gone, you will never find.

Somewhere, whilst ever I remain on this mortal coil, this house of humans

I will find a great love, I will sense that I have been given a chance.

My imagination leads me to believe that there is some kindred spirit

That I may yet still hold in a loving, thought sharing, comforting dance.

Somewhere in this physical place there must be a life I could share,

To relegate the people of the night, my imaginations, to some other place

And a new, exciting game would begin, discoveries and moods to scale.

A different person, a woman of vast patience, able to love, a kissable face.

Maybe not, and I hear my mind folk cheer, they are my friends, they say.

These ones that I have made, these ones that are of my very fibre of life

They do take a toll for their existence, for they control the night until I wake.

Tell them to leave, to break the chain of memories, is not what I would really like.

Where else could I call upon such a rag-tag team of humoursome personalities?

Why would one not have friends that could make you laugh, tho' suffering pain?

Where would you find folk to come at your bidding, always ready to serve your needs?

For me, no other place but in my imagination, waiting release from the works of my brain.