Master Our World: The Pleas of an Imaginary Race

Where does thy beasts have left to dwell
When the imagination proclaims is rest
And allows no more the wandering mind
To conjure up and manifest their nest

What’s held within the pages of your mind
When your book of imaginativeness is closed
And reality like a sinking stone tied to your will
leaves teleofunctionality, in its naked light exposed.

So I beg of you don’t give in to reality
However hard it seems to call
For you remain our point of convergence
and you are our reality the creator of us all.