The Poet's Dream
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The time was like many dusks, the Poet sitting with his quill to his paper with ideas and concepts rattling and jumbling in his mind wishing for freedom in the written word. The quill wrote and the hand crumbled and tossed away. The thoughts didn’t find solace in the Poet’s written word. Tired, Poet was tormented by his own inspiration like the puzzle pieces to a masterpiece that they couldn't fit together. The Poet knew he couldn’t work this late and resigned himself to his melancholy slumber. Sleep. Sleep is without trouble. Without problems. Without restricted thought.

This night was different for the Poet, he had a dream most grand. A dream of a mansion with a garden where he grew their most vibrant and brilliantly colored flowers. The dream felt almost indistinguishable from conscious reality. Behind the Poet, a being bright as the sun and as comforting as a crackling hearth began to approach him. The dream seemed so real and the being was so bright, yet the Poet continued to tend to his garden with a sense of prideful purpose.

The being greeted the Poet like an old friend with a smile and sunny demeanor making flowers bloom where his feet tread. The Being asked the Poet if anything was troubling him, the Poet was almost too focused on his gardening to respond until he said, “Well, I have been troubled greatly in my attempts to weave a desirable narrative for many moons.” The being urged the Poet to tell him of the proposed story he wished to tell. The Poet and the being sat down next to the sparkling fountain in the dry thick blades of grass as the Poet began to describe his tale. The Poet transcribed to the being for what seemed like many hours about his characters, symbolism, and proposed events in his ambitious book. The being listened intently and even provided input to the Poet about specific details.

As the Poet finished reciting what he had planned to the being, the being stood up. The being planted its hands onto the Poet’s shoulders and stared deeply into his eyes as if observing. The being then touched the ground and just as they did so, the garden began to shift in form. The field in front of the Poet and the being became an ocean and the grass they stood upon turned to sand. The sun lowered from high noon to dusk in an instant, meeting the sea. The Poet was startled by the change in scenery and faced the being with a bewildered expression. The being understood the Poet’s confusion but instead of an explanation, the being motioned to the great expansive beach with their hand.

The Poet’s bewilderment faded into wonder as he looked towards the light cascading across the ocean and down to the sand between his toes, they promptly jerked their head behind himself to unveil a faraway mountain with a peak above the clouds. The Poet swayed their head left to right and was met with sights of such magnificent status that he could hardly believe what he saw. The Poet saw luxurious ponds with thriving Nyads, dynamic phoenixes, towering giants, and a number of mystical creatures.

It all seemed so familiar…
Is this…
my story?…

The Poet realized that this was the first scene of his novel, just as he pictured it in his imagination. The bright being faced the Poet with an informed smile and hand on the Poet’s shoulder and said, “So you understand my friend. This is your vision in its clearest form, with my help you can connect those pieces and find those words that elude you.” The Poet, with an enthusiastic smile, shook hands with the being. For though there was work to be done, the Poet had to show his new appreciation and respect in some way.

The Poet and the being began to create vast creative scenes, each showing the Poet’s creative ideas. The shapes, the movements, the words all came flooding into the Poet’s mind. They made towering castles that held noble kings and their courts. Trees grew from mere seedlings into massive overshadowing oaks that stretched into the stars and housed glorious wildlife. Vast crystal lakes and dusty dunes could be made with merely a thought of the Poet. The Poet was overcome with options and his own creations. Each moment was expressive and lively, the Poet’s feelings in those moments could only be described as pure wonderment and pride.

They went on for many landscapes and scenes until, at the final scene of the first chapter, the being paused and faced the Poet with a hint of sweet sorrow in their expression said, “My friend, it is time for you to go back and write your book.” the Poet paused then his grin melted to a solemn frown. The Poet rigidly turned to the being and spoke, “Well I guess that is something I just wanted to ignore. But I can’t make this book without this place, without you.” The being shook their head, “Poet, do not fret. Next moon we will meet again, you will finish your story one day. I will be there for you on that day.”

The Poet was speechless with a slight smirk. The Poet calmly and slowly walked to the glowing being, step by step. The Poet wept as the distance between them and the being became more and more narrow. When the Poet finally reached the being, he embraced the being as if they may never see each other again. The world began to fade from a royal orange to a piercing white as the Poet left the world and their friend. “Till tomorrow, my friend.”

Every night the Poet and his friend are still working on their stories and thriving in their garden of imagination and creation.

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