During my childhood,
I would sit at the bottom of my window.
Looking at vastness of the sky,
My legs dangling out,
Almost touching the garden of roses facing me.
Distant from all worlds.
The only light was the bright stars on a quiet night.
The crescent of the moon almost absent.

As the night opened itself to me,
I wrote away all my ideas and stories.
My imagination wild, every way but toward reality.
Princes, colorful sunsets and castles.

But now,
Knowledge and its facts lead my mind.
Autopilot is now on and took over my mind,
It narrows its doorways.
The walls close in,
And no light shines through the windows of my imagination.
Desistance is the word that flows with my mind.

My imagination now controlled
By the left side if my brain.
Logic, language and sequences grid my ways of thinking.

As the night leaves,
My page remains white as snow.