Imagination
I hold up my hand against the evening sky,
shades of purple striping the horizon.
Planets appear in the night
as small beacons of light,
preparing to dance
across their circuitous route.
And I look at my hand,
a brutal contrast to the dark vastness
that extends beyond me.
And I begin to wonder,
Could I reach
and touch the clouds,
the stars,
the universe above me.
But here I am,
rooted on this foundation called earth,
able to do no more than run
and jump,
hoping to grasp a falling star.
Then my soul longs to fly
to touch a star
and shine upon my earth
like a luminous candle.
And again I look at my hand,
studying the complexities of it,
knowing one day that it will be
wrinkled and useless.
And my chances of ever exploring
the star-filled frontier
grow less and less
as the dust of my creation
slowly trickles away.
And I realize,
as I sit under the starry canopy,
That while I am bound
by my chains of earthly mortality,
it is with my imagination
that I can go beyond my chair
to the heavens above.
written by Ben Brick
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.
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