JUST IMAGINE
Last day of March
And it seems so long
Even as close as the
Ides, And would I
Be wrong to suggest that
Time is just a figment
To keep imagination away
At more than arms length
Out in the cold, to the teeth
Of the northerly, to the snow
That does not settle in capture
Of any form of recognition,
Not even when Einstein
Said of its importance, to Him
Imagination, To bring relativity,
For others, a concerto or symphony,
Fine art collectively
For if it were the cure, the negative
Would surely never win over, or be
Solemnly perpetrated, for one to
Be always of that ionic structure
Of low self esteem, that is called loveless
Until it becomes the deep molten pumice
Ferociously erupted into the sea,
For only to be left to weather
On that lonely stretch of sunlit sand.
And how long will it be
Before the masses understand.
TOMORROW? APRIL FOOLS
JUST IMAGINE.
BUT THIS TIME
FOR IT TO BE REAL