Imaginary

The swirling colors radiate,

in their minds, young and open

Flowers dancing, blown about

on imaginary winds

Conjuring blue and yellow and forest green

When she sees only shade and shadow

or nothing at all

The dust of neglect,

the stink of old food

Hidden in cracks and crevices

that, to them, are canyons and caves

And unexplored wonders

Enmeshed in dreams,

seeking visions and adventure

The sofa becomes a mountain,

under rugs are hidden buried treasure

Walls are prison cages

and doors are meant to be flung wide

To the depths of the sunlight

weaving in and out between panes of glass

Unseen by a mother's eyes

as she simply closes the curtains

and hushes the children

Never knowing, in her stubborn grasp of reality

that it requires more imagination

to deny the dreams

than to embrace them.