Incomplete thoughts,
Raging against the walls, of stripped white paintings
Nearing the end of this experiment, this journey
That has taken us all so far, or short
To an extent,
The imagination lies within us, to be kids ourselves
The journey just begins.
Treading bridges,
Jerking the breaks, it all turns into slow motion,
Of what will,
What is, what was,
And when it all comes clear, (the)
Ghost from underneath, speeds up to lose track,
Just once more.
Creativity,
Be the death of us all, to imagine a life
Beyond the known existence, this tinted window
Foreseeing the future, that we all know will happen
But yet can't begin to submit to admittance.
It rolls onward and inward, sideways and back,
Collecting the dust we all can't see.
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Halloween is Right around the corner.. .
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This is one of your best, Beth!! 
