November 14, 2011
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It is around that time again,
when the clock dongs all over again.
The sweet sound it makes,
as the seconds tick by.

I am by my window,
sitting at my desk no less.
My coffee cup hot,
warming the scene.

I look at my candles,
black as midnight.
Oh, how the fire burns,
crackling in the silence.

I lay back,
relaxing each mussel.
I feel my body lessen,
as I start to drift.

Within minutes,
or was it seconds?
I was gone
and into the land of white.

I look from the front to the back,
and all I see are the black doors.
Each one embedded with a number,
painted bright gold and easy to read.

I go down each door,
listening with all possibilities.
I was looking for one story,
one that has yet to be heard.

I hear in one door the dream a friend was having,
one that involved his very personal experience.
I thought for a second,
then denied that door.

As I was going down (or up?) the rows,
I start to think.
What my mind was pondering,
was this curse.

From the day I was born,
till the day I die (I guess),
I have this ability,
to see people's dreams.

At first,
I was frightened.
Then I decided,
what I must do.

I was a poor man,
living off of scraps anywhere.
That was until I found out,
how grand my power was.

I decided to write,
become one like the real Gods.
I view people's dreams,
then write them

'How genius!' I tell myself,
as I first decided!
'How genius!' I cried,
when I became a success.

I go up a few,
down a thousand,
looking for a new dream,
one that is crying out to me.

I kept on looking,
looking for something original.
Not like a little green bag,
but more like something golden.

I grow tired,
as I start to realize it.
I should have seen this coming,
but it was too late.

As I looked,
I understood.
Some of the doors are missing.
Others lead to blank white walls.

I run as fast as I can,
my legs pumping at the veins.
I break out in a cold sweat,
pure terror on my face.

I rip open the doors,
one by one,
for hours and hours.
Maybe days and days.

Until I found one door.
One I never imagined.
And but the looks of it,
a wonderful or terrible dream was ensured.

I take a deep breath,
drying the sweat on my face.
Extending my hand,
I enter the door.

Once I got settled,
my feet that is,
I start to notice something.
Something rather off.

I look around me,
seeing all that one could.
I hear the thunder cracking,
and the sky a horrific purple.

There was only one path,
made out of burnt brick and ash.
Each step the same,
all bland.

No where to go,
nothing to gaze at,
I start on this path,
hoping it will lead to somewhere.

As I continue,
random explosions take place.
I jumped a few times,
but then I calmed down.

As I saw each one,
each explosion that erupted,
I head screams,
Screams unlike any other.

These were imagined screams.
Screams that come from the minds of others.
Each one being destroyed.
Each one being burnt.

I wanted to save them,
but these dark fiends were too far down.
If I was to try to save them,
I would be killed.

I continue on my path,
trying to ignore the screams.
Each one worse then the last.
If that was even possible.

I spent days on this path,
wishing for the rows of light walls.
I wondered how I could go back,
return to the doors and hallways.

Once the path ended,
I found another door.
On it there was a word.
One written in a color too beautiful to say.

I looked up and read the word.
It was odd,
but I said the word out loud:

Once said,
and I heard the silence,
I felt a warmness in my chest,
one that resembled first love.

The shape of a heart,
opened in my chest.
While no blood came out,
a bright light did.

Out of this light,
and out of the heart,
a single ray emerged,
and went into the keyhole on the door.

For a few seconds
or however long it took,
I heard the clicking of the inner locks,
and my excitement grew.

Once it was all done,
the door handles became physical.
They were painted on the door,
but then they appeared.

I grabbed them,
one in each hand,
and tried to pull,
but something was wrong.

I tried again,
but something was wrong.
Again, and again.
Same result.

I re-looked at the word.

The word circled my mind.
Something about it.
Something off.
Until I figured it out.

With the new word in mind,
biting away at my lips,
I shouted:

I head the final clicks,
a glow erupted from the cracks on the door.
I grabbed the door handles,
and opened the door.

What I saw,
with my own two eyes,
was something that I never expected,
from the words Imagination and Imaginarium.

I saw...
I saw...
I saw...
... nothing.

Except for all white.
I heard a loud clash behind me,
only to find the doors gone.

I walked around the emptyness.
Looking for a way out.
Was I going north or south?
East or west?

While I saw nothing,
a strange sense of calm happened.
I should not,
but I was calm.

Then a voice was heard.
One I could not identify.
It spoke of the problem,
why the world was this.

He said it was due to the brain,
not working.
Due to people,
forgetting the old ways.

I was chosen,
he said,
to remind people
of the true life.

'The true life,'
he said.
'that only the ones who give life
can give.'

no matter the purpose,
can not break the tradition,
no matter what.'

He said that I must go back to my world,
type out what I had experienced.
I must type this out,
and get people back into different worlds.

Each voice I heard,
each one screaming,
was that of an idea,
for a world someone had.

I realized that every time an idea would come,
something that could change the world,
someone would destroy it.
Create a dulled version.

When I woke up,
to my candles out and my coffee cold,
I had some tears in my eyes,
as I thought of those souls.

Every time someone creates a story,
or thinks of one,
that person harnesses the power of God,
the power to create a world and let people live.

Too many people give up on that power,
thinking it is pathetic.
No one wants to open their minds.
No one wants to create their power.

As I type out my story,
one that might be my best,
I hope someone will create a world,
create a universe and have the power of God.

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