The portal to our imagination
is a big, red door
and on paper wings
we embark on a journey,
escape!
through the channels
of our potential.
Behind the door?
cordial creatures,
others most obnoxious,
beasts darting by,
matchstick men
hop along with a sigh.
Onward, onward towards
a volcano of red,
the swirling fires
of the hottest stream,
sizzling and ablaze.
A Chanel-clad Kloe
sprints at a lick
her glorious fingernails
sic,sic,sic.
Onward, onward
the boom of a roaring rocket
bursting towards
the boundaries of space.
Steve the robot
who blurts ‘he-llo’,
the lost astronaut
who’s, Sh! gone with the flow.
Onward, onward
to the final room.
The resounding relief
on hearing a guitar
serenading the cerulean sky,
hovering on a cloud,
floating on high,
time to shut each door
and bid the day goodbye.