I sit in my favorite spot against the only tree in my neighborhood I can climb
I listen to the silence and wait for the boredom to create my favorite place to be.
My imagination is at work every time I come to this place,
My patience never tested for long.

When the wind picks up, my imagination comes alive
With the voices and the roars of creatures that don’t belong in the outside world,
The calls of the animals that reside in the cradle of the forest,
Far from this world that bans imagination and creation for fear of something unbecoming.
These same winds carry the ringing of church bells and the clashing of swords in battle,
The war cries that accompany them ever present.

I can feel the heaviness of the air when comrades fall,
My pen refusing to stop scratching away at my notebook,
I feel the slashing of desperation for those who want to live to see their families,
Feel the tremor of the blades clashing for their wielders lives.
The emotions of these same people flow like a waterfall crashing into the oceans waters.
The tender love shared between two of one mind.

The scent of sweat and blood never fades while I watch the battle,
The breeze from each swing nearest me flying straight through me.
When the battlefield is away, the scent of bizarre food invades my nose.
The odd combination of fresh baked cookies and duck soup,
It never ceases to awaken my stomach.

I watch my favorite people I’ve never met before dance,
Their hair flowing like curtains or swaying like grass.
They seem to glow with their own strengths,
Leaving me to wonder how I could be like them.
I watch everything they do, how they react with people they meet.
How they train with their comrades before a battle.

Waiting for their comrades to return from the battlefield,
I wait alongside each character I create,
Becoming one with their hearts and seeing through their eyes.
Feel their strengths and worries.
Listen to their pasts and record everything I can remember through them.

Each place they retreat to becomes a new home,
A new place to live in and experience with new eyes.
A new part of the forest becomes home to a lost tribe of people who want to be left alone.
The newest cities built create a culture similar to the rest,
Though with it’s own strengths and weaknesses as a people.

It’s difficult to watch their created worth crumple into dust,
By another creation or character that loved them dearly in the time they were known.
These are the struggles I must live with.
The reality that none of this can be experienced for myself because I live in the wrong world.
A world I did not create for myself.
The world I create for myself is the one place I feel I am happy.
Why would I want to bother with the real world of disappointments,
I’ll never know why I’m forced.

My world is where I belong.
I belong with the people I often dreamt of meeting for myself.
I belong with the imaginations of my own heart.
Within these imaginative worlds, I am free to be whatever I want.
When my pen stops scratching, I’ll have reached my goal.
At that point, no one can stop me.