Imagination

A thought struck, 
Collided with another. 
Fallen milk with a shower, 
Turned to snow stuck,
To the ground. 
On a quiet winter day, 
A thoughtless whisper, I say. 
It turns into a dialogue.
My imagination and I, 
Twist tales and lie. 
Argue and reason,
Throw ideas around for fun. 
Then, work beckons.
Yet, the mind still drifts.
Twenty years from now, 
With a book all done, 
A writer takes a bow.
Puts down his pen, 
As the photographer,
Adjusts his lens. 
Five more years, 
And the photos most dear, 
Are painted with a careful hand. 
What next? 
Another occupation,
Slowly takes a stand. 
The dog outside barks,
Good Lord,
Two hours have passed!
Reality seeps in,
Reason takes up the reins.
To boring now, I return. 
Reluctantly, its importance,
I affirm.
With a cup of milky tea, 
By the side. 
I turn up the light, 
And set forth, 
On my responsibilities tonight.

The story of life

The page turns,
And compels the new day to rush forth.
As destiny writes on, 
Never looking back,
Always keeping ahead of man. 
Going mile after mile,
As the pages turn, 
The end is near. 
The book writes itself. 
And, by the end,
Each life,
Is, but a story unique
In its own way.
Equally enticing,
Equally worthwhile,
Equally consuming.