A little poem I wrote about imagination and creativity:
I dipped my toes into the wide sea of imagination.
I felt whispers of far-off currents, charged with kinetic purpose.
I sensed velvety depths where ideas lurk, before floating to the surface,
to clash, in foamy surf, with all that has already been judged
by the sure rays of the sun.
Now I stand firmly, ankle deep.
The tide excavates the sand beneath my feet.
With each delicate drag, it pulls me deeper and deeper,
so that someday, if I stand persistently,
and trust stubbornly,
it might consent to consume me completely.
My feet are buried in the sea, and I am the sea.
And I dearly wish to catch a current, and learn it, and braid myself into it,
to let it carry me.
What fun to be a wave, whose journey ends in energetic, clapping, glory,
a million kisses to the silky shore,
sparkling and alive and loud and unique,
giving all that it has and taking only what it should.
Of all the waves, let me be one.
Let me gather myself boldly from the deepness, and befriend a current,
and find myself, in glittering chaos exposed, ebullient.
To saturate the sand, so that it might reflect the sun and sky,
for a few moments of my own.