Imaginarium

All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.  Haunted mothballs at the back of the closet in a thriller movie.  The gate banging in the wind, the cat knocking over a tin can in the garden.

Are wildflowers a sign of flourishing or neglect?  Tears of rain fall tepid on loamy earth, for all the more wildflowers to shudder on through.  Hedera helix and gypsophila, heliotropium and gerbera, taraxacum and papava.

The Latin for creator is creator.  My smock bears witness to my satisfying failures, for it’s the process that woos me more.  Liaisons with a passing muse.  An overdose of music to free the cerebellum, such a pleasant scattering.

A clumpy padlock on a bridge by the harbour, a beautiful installation by accidental artists.  Infused with desire to mark a love, its hereness of, some dissipating, some enduring.  What funny little spells we cast for a magic that’s a rebellious bird.

The moon’s wax spills over into the eighth house of discovery.  Writing thought pennies on virtual paper.  Beautiful when an old dream is, by chance, resurrected.  A breakfast of musings, the sly music of silence.  It’s not a thriller movie when you’re the director.  At least not for you. *wink*

^{_{© N Nazir 2024}}

*Poetic prose, prose poem or vignettes disguised as lyrical non-fiction?  

*Written for Shay’s Word Garden List where I have used all the words, a challenge I accepted from esteemed fellow blogger Dora, who believed I could so I did (except for neglect instead of neglected, you’ll have to let that slide! ☺️). The link is live till next Monday to take part.

*Written using inspiration from this week’s dVerse Prosery prompt: All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream (Edgar Allan Poe). Shared for dVerse Open Link Night.