Poetry is a fantasy world,
but I am incapable of appreciating some complicated words,
for I have neither patience nor intelligence, for the vague and fake.
too aloof,
I’d save myself the grief.

All night long,
I’d rather hear the sleepers toss
Between the darkened window and the wall.
The madman’s whimper and the lover’s voice,
The worker’s whisper and the sick child’s call—
Knowing them all

I’d walk a mile, maybe,
Someday become a rebel,
Armed by actions, not a pen-pal,
Siege a new world, banish the papal
answering each call in person and
Each poor demand.
Such simple love I have,
Fulfilled at once in a fantasy world. 

And for now, I’d have been better off sleeping myself.
These fancies had some sentimental charms,
But Love with mere poetry is a cheap blanket,
Although it did no one any harm,
No one is warm.
Poetry and fantasy

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Read Next: To The Silenced

Read More: I’m Over Ms.Hope

Posted by:Annabel

A Dancer, choreographer, A researcher who specializes in Religious Dance and Ritual Performance Study. My blog is the notepad of my consciousness in the modern era we live and a witness of my unique journey on earth, in the cosmos.

7 replies on “The Fantasy World

  1. I really liked the second stanza the way you describe “I’d rather hear the sleepers toss
    Between the darkened window and the wall.
    The madman’s whimper and the lover’s voice,
    The worker’s whisper and the sick child’s call—
    Knowing them all”
    There’s something so melancholic about it. Brilliant poetry Annabel.
    ~Jay

    Like

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