Imagination works it’s own pattern,
Look into my thoughts you will see.
The heart knows it can rebound,
In life, it’s not just the imagination that’s real.
In the wisdom book what was writ didn’t mean much,
Full of mindless gimmicks you couldn’t throw your hat in with.
Passing ’round messages in gloves they surround us,
Daub lies in graffiti to stand to outwit us.
We back off to be safe but they follow us.
© Catherine Considine