Long ago there once was.

A child with an imagination none of us could imagine.

His room a fine palace,

The walls peeling with victorian papers

The floors covered with archaic rugs.

Creatures of myriad assortments 

So minuscule one needed a microscope

So immeasurable you could not measure the size

So bright there was no chance of eye contact

So dark you were afraid to gaze

The child ruled this palace

Not alone but with every other fellow

They directed themselves

The weather

The clocks

The light

The living.

Things soon became harsh

Disagreements of the plenty

Arguments thrown around like stuffed dolls,

Things became harsh.

The child established frustration

Anger

Sadness.

With every blink, his friends began to vanish

He became befuddled

Attempts at keeping his eyes spread wide

Only causing pain and impoverishment.

The fluttering of lids begins, the friends reducing,

Reducing

Reducing.

Scared, the boy closes his eyes

Retreating into the darkness where there is no loss.

Opening the lids, revealing a pair or darting marbles,

A blank and empty bedroom appears.

Nothing is living,

Only a bed, scattered clothing upon the white carpets.

Things have been this way ever since

Yet to see the friends that once existed.

Now only a figment of the imagination he once had.

Long ago there once was

A child with an imagination, 

beyond this mans imagination.