necessities

The faintly blushing horizon, dotted with archaic earth that has reigned the water for epochs,

groan with tumultuous yearning as the blue drink above me settles into its 

soft, hellish hue.

the hum of the water soothes my seething soul, each wave lapping the shore

like blood lapping the inside of my veins. 

I lie there in solitude, not bothered by the trifles of materialism; no. 

I do not ask for rope, or flint, or books, or food even; no. 

I require something that can't be materialized, that I can't ever let go of. 

Imagination. 

Imagination is what fuels the fervor for adventure, what incites paroxysms of 

percipitous action. 

It gives us the ability to inhale with motivation, and exhale with creativity. 

Imagination is what produces life. 

How am I to live, with the absence of life? 

The sky is now a pale rose, gentle. I want it to caress me, carry me away, to a 

world far from here. 

Imagination. 

My escape to solitude is impossible without it; I need it to wander from myself. 

To make myself believe I am who I want to be, and nothing more. 

Imagination. 

It fondles me like no lover can, and comforts me when companions can't. 

While this island has me confined, like a bird within its cage, 

imagination has given me the 

key.