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Array ( [sid] => 181516 [catid] => 1 [aid] => mick [title] => The Arms of Imagination [time] => 2015-08-03 03:01:36 [hometext] => the 1st 2 line was the last to come to me and made this a totally different poem [bodytext] => How can the arms of imagination be so warm,
While in a dream with happiness in her form,
But the light shines too late,
Killing what could be fate,
And feeding the mental rape,
Of which there is no escape,
From this nightmare glistening,
When I'm the only one listening,
To the world ran by the dead,
That lives inside my head. [comments] => 4 [counter] => 198 [topic] => 13 [informant] => lonelywolf04 [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 0 [ratings] => 0 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => DarkPoetry )

The Arms of Imagination

Contributed by lonelywolf04 on Monday, 3rd August 2015 @ 03:01:36 AM in AEST
Topic: DarkPoetry

How can the arms of imagination be so warm,
While in a dream with happiness in her form,
But the light shines too late,
Killing what could be fate,
And feeding the mental rape,
Of which there is no escape,
From this nightmare glistening,
When I'm the only one listening,
To the world ran by the dead,
That lives inside my head.

Copyright © lonelywolf04 ... [ 2015-08-03 03:01:36]
(Date/Time posted on site)

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Re: The Arms of Imagination (User Rating: 1 )
by ScorpionFire88 on Monday, 3rd August 2015 @ 08:11:25 AM AEST
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Beautifully written!

- Anna

Re: The Arms of Imagination (User Rating: 1 )
by blknwht on Monday, 3rd August 2015 @ 01:44:37 PM AEST
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I like it a lot... nice write!

Re: The Arms of Imagination (User Rating: 1 )
by Archie on Tuesday, 25th August 2015 @ 03:47:30 AM AEST
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This poem reminds me of what goes on in my head. usually it is fear and insecurity which end up incapacitating me. Your write shows this poignantly

Re: The Arms of Imagination (User Rating: 1 )
by xHeathenx on Saturday, 19th September 2015 @ 04:39:57 AM AEST
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Perhaps my take on this is a bit rash, and mistaken, but I see it as though our dreams and nightmares are all utilizing the same pieces of our mind, and in that, the poem asks, how can it be so warm, yet so incredibly dark and dreary?

I like that. It's a way I never thought to look at it before. I suppose I would say the only answer I can at this moment. Every image we see will always look different at a different moment and angle. Our mind is just a reflection of that idea.

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