Boxes and Blackholes

Within my mind exists a place with pink and blue Dalmatians.

Where noble knights stand up to fight, decreed emancipation.

Where I can fly a cardboard box and master aviation.

And sore beyond the stratosphere in full perpetuation.

A place where I can be a star within a constellation.

Or maybe even be a spell, a wizard’s conjuration.

Where I can draw a masterpiece to help spark inspiration,

then hang it up upon a wall, an Escher tessellation.

A place to do just anything in any situation,

like jumping down into black-holes exploring gravitation.

Or I could simply watch the sky in pure infatuation.

And sing myself a lullaby without a complication.

Within this place where I exist there are no altercations.

There are no harmful, hateful words or any provocations.

There are no strings to tie me down, there is no limitation—

for nothing is impossible with my imagination.