A Poem a Day 2015 (44): Childhood scrawled

Remember when you used to see monsters in the patterns in your curtains, checked under the bed for things that might go bump in the night and found faces in the clouds - well, I still do the last one! 

This one is about that kind of thing.

Childhood scrawled

The world paused upon an echo

And it was just me,

Pointing a finger up at the sky,

Questioning, wondering why;

Would it fall if I asked too much?

Did tears plunge in a tumult of rain?

I decided it best not to ask

In this moment,

Staring wide-eyed as the world moved,

Shifting in its seat like an aged crone

Smothering the air with moronic laughter.

I whisked down my hand in fright,

Far away from the sweeping black crow

Upon whose wings my imagination flew - 

Painting witches and toads riding brooms

As gems dazzled in dark cavern tunnels;

Conjuring spiders spinning silvery silk

By roaring waterfalls of leaping goldfish.

They urged me to play with them all

In a time forgotten to children like me.

Yet in that moment

As I stood frozen in awe

Another hand reached out

To pluck mine own.

It swept me away, back inside

As the world did yield its secret:

What you dream and what you see
May or may not come to be.

copyright Vickie Johnstone