Imagine This Fantasy, Please

Behind the sleeping giant
Whose slumber looks of stone.
There is the dragon's breath defiant
That whispers from Imagination's throne.

Before the mechanical clock
Struck the doomsday hour.
The child's eye did flock
To a hidden kind of power.

The eye in the sky does mock
The memory of the Fantasy.
Depleted is Imagination's stock
For we have sunk it into the sea.

Like sunken treasure with lock
Now rusted shut in its watery grave.
The fathoms of Fantasy lack
The proper gauge to save

Imagination from the black
And deep requiem of the sea.
The scientific attack
Has made the mythic monster flee.

For now the Supernatural, see,
Surrenders to the Factual plee.

I Know Who "They" Are

I know who they are.

I know who cracked the teapot,

Who slammed the door, and cut the

Strings on the guitar.

I saw their mischievous shadows, their dusty trails,

And other evidence of their midnight play slip away.

I believe they turned all the signs 

Around and put them upside down.

Is it so impossible to know their charm,

To see the beauty in the work,

And to believe in the signs we see?

They took our order and served us chaos.

What a Fantastic taste! 

Unscramble my eggs, my mind,

It does bubble and boil in upset turmoil.

Untangle my legs, my bind,

It is too tight, and I cannot chase

The creatures of the night.