Fiction blooms from vivid minds fomenting
and reveries at midnight, thoughts tormenting.
Invention and its friend, the good intention
are children of the most unanswered questions.
Of all my fantasies I take selection,
the best of them I aim in hope's direction.
Very delicate but no, not too surprizin'
fabric tears to shreds on reaching the horizon
of sunset clouds adrift upon an ocean.
Life,do you suppose, is but a notion?
© 2017 cherryk
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