Imagination running wild

It would seem,

as I a lonely school girl,

void of friends and companions,

would cling to the fantastic world of books

with the intensity of a thousand knives.

But, unfortunately,

my dear love for books died sometime ago,

along with my social life.

I once had friends, not too many,

but enough to feel sufficient.

I used to have a great compulsion

for reading.

Such that it would so uncommonly odd

for one to see me doing anything

of the subject matter

of texting, emailing, or even checking my Facebook.

But something happened

a certain loss of interest,

a passionate flee of all want for reading.

It would seem that all these began with

the infringement of several

mood disorders.

The orderly woman

has lost her mind,

to the point all manners of reading were

replaced by another kind.

Though my reading is dead,

I do find my mind,

mine imagination,

flowing still with ingenious characters and stories

so many of my ex-favorites did invent.

Years may pass but one can always spot me

at a Harry Potter premiere,

or quoting that the works of a certain Invisible Monster.

One book, a book I have yet to even look at again,

still haunts my imagination.

It lurks in corners, with a stealthy walk,

not unlike the characters in the book.

many months ago

whilst locked in horrid old manor.

For which manner?

I cannot tell.

But be it still, in dark of night,

I dreamed a man would come to me.

A man of old wisdom, but looks of the ageless.

He would tell me of his world,

reassuring me that through my mind

life would fly by faster than seems possible.

Now some may say,

I say may because all are in titled

to there own thoughts,

but back to the track.

Some may say,

that I am crazy,

insane,

of my rocker, etc.

all because I find sanity in the insane

matters of imagination.

I find peace with the Vampire Lestat,

(mentioned above)

I find home in the ridiculous

behaviours of the Mad Hatter and his gang,

I find my inner bravery in through

the wardrobe,

past a frozen street lamp,

and on the crystal waves surrounding

the fair castle Cair Paravel.

From mine own view

I find this not a sign of true insanity

but a sign a imagination.

Imagination being something this world

seems not to understand,

to lack.

It is understandable, though.

as people in this world, of this generation,

everything is generated for use

everything thing is a movie, a tv show,

explained for use leaving no hope for imagination to show through.