If perchance we should happen to meet

Crossing the street one particular sunny morning

And should we smile at each other

Then maybe I would invite you into my home

Up the stairs we would climb, up and up and up

Until we reached the library that is my conscience

And miles high book shelves would stretch

Filled with my thoughts, bound in leather and cloth

Should you scan those shelves which are so dear to me

You may find titles such as Love and Hate,

Happiness and Sadness, Jealousy and Kindness,

Whereupon you would probably proclaim in a loud voice

‘These books have no meaning!’

And I should have to disagree with you,

And with determination I would lead you

Up the stairs, up and up and up

Until we reached the top of the book shelf

And then I would show you books filled with pictures

Pictures of my thoughts, dreams and visions

Perchance you may find a book filled with pictures of people-

A modern day girl stuck in a fantasy world.

A god who cares for no one and everyone-

Waves of the sea roaring as his heart is unlocked.

A girl dancing in the air in the middle of the night

As she struggles to solve a bloody mystery,

A blue eyed girl with a flame at her fingertips.

‘These are meaningful, are they not?’ I would ask,

And if you should still disagree with me

And should you argue that these books have no significance

Then I would say that perhaps you are right:

Thoughts, feelings, dreams and vision are less meaningful

When they are written down on paper.

But somehow they all make sense in my mind

And for you I do my best to write them down, to explain

It is not an easy task.

And so I give you one book, one precious thought, as a gift

Down the stairs we would descend, down and down and down

Until we reached the bottom of the shelf

And with a polite bow and a small, sad smile

You leave my home, my book clutched tight under your arm

And should you decide to look at this book

You should find a few simple words penned within:

‘To love is to know

To seek is to find

To imagine is to create.’

Perhaps these words will make no sense to you,

For they barely make sense to me, even as I write them down

But perhaps you may understand

That every thought, every dream, every word, every vision, every action

Is meaningful.

Even such a small gesture

As two strangers smiling at each other

While crossing the road on a particular sunny morning.