JUNE Imagination
On a mid-day in June,
I lay upon the ground,
I looked up at the vast open sky,
The grass tickling my back below me,
And the clouds interrupting my thought patterns, above me
I tried using my imagination to make shapes in the clouds,
But they only looked like big, white blobs to me.
Maybe I am too old to have an imagination any more.
Maybe there is a bad guy that comes into your room,
One night, when you hit a certain age,
And while you are asleep, he takes your imagination from you
And makes you start thinking like a grown up.
Well, I don’t want to grow up; I want to stay young forever.
Why would someone be so cruel?
Your imagination is like a piece of your childhood that you keep
locked up
In your heart forever.
If you get rid of that, what else do you have?
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