Poem du jour

Refusing to grow up, we continue to invent stories,
One is a serial killer, another a hot sexy lover.
We ooze with imagined talents – impressing our self, keeping amused.
As children we lived great dreams, to be a fireman,
To be famous in Hollywood, growing up to be a helicopter or a mighty oak.
The decades, they click on and off.
Channels of fiction passing before eyes,
slowly we begin to share our private imagined world.
Friends and strangers are brought into the tales –
often playing along -often backing off, scared and troubled.
Macabre Dense Staring Into The Horizon