Unadulterated Fabrication

Unadulterated Fabrication

Our imaginations
fill-in-the-blanks
of stories we don’t know.
We get a glimpse,
and write the rest of the tale,
based on the Island of What Ifs.
Inhabited exclusively
with phantoms
we conjure up.

The shaky terrain
is filled with
darkness and shadows.
Ghosts lurking
from our past.
Never ending loops
of dismal possibilities
shrieking in our ears.
Echoes ricocheting off
the walls of our minds
like lottery numbers
bouncing off a plastic dome.

Worse Case Scenarios
thrive in The Gap between
What Is and What If.
They camp out in this chasm.
Pitching tent
for as long as we allow.
As real and as tangible
as they appear,
their credibility
is a sham.
They breathe only within us.

As the mirage expands,
it overtakes
our field of vision,
and blinds us
with the lurid side of
glamour and glitz.
Hocus-pocus
boomeranging
in a trick mirror.
Simultaneously,
our minds become
the pent-up hostage
and the warden,
mockingly swinging
the keys to freedom.

Yet in the space
of reality,
we don’t know
more than an instance.
It’s as if we thumb through a novel,
pick a few words off a random page,
and think we’ve penned the book ourselves.
The ending is firmly
footed in the depths of our minds.

The hourglass is an illusion,
stretched beyond recognition.
There’s a lifetime
trailing every split second,
transcending its capacity.
Infinity lives
behind the scenes.
Beyond the curtain,
the Wizard is busy
at work.

As the epic unfolds,
hidden details emerge.
The threads weave
together.
The tapestry
is brighter
than we ever
conceived possible.
Every time.

Vacate The Island of What Ifs.
It is all a myth.
Unadulterated Fabrication.
Lasso and tether
your runaway thoughts.
Rein them in.
Guide them as firmly
as a jockey bridles
a wild horse.

Calm your spirit.
Soothe your soul.
Anchor your musings
in sparkling waves of luminosity.
Firmly root
your psyche
on The Shore of What Is.
Playground or Penitentiary.
Flowers and rainbows
or concrete and chains.
An ocean apart.
A world within.
The choice is ours.

Nancy L. Baskin Michlin, M.Ed., C.H.C.
August 20-21, 2013
Poem #380

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