Imagination 091701

I don’t see this world

It walks on imaginary legs

So distorted and swirled

A small view through a cracked egg

I don’t touch this place

A dry mist that slips free

But it is to here I often race

When the tangible lacks what I need

Hidden to most but a few

Those whom I choose to shift

To a misty place so old and new

There minds and souls it helps lift

To find it only close your view

To see what hides on the inside of your face

Where the mind creates what’s new

A place, A place to hide your face