They say a poet's world, Is a mad, fantastical world.. So, I write poems, is my World so fictitious, is my Imagination the creator of my dear world..? What I see is a place, A home, a lively base. Where people and animals with, Plants and rocks exist, this a myth..?? On this Earth, in space... In my world, to me, buses look Like whales on the road, hook Up anywhere together and start to sing Like the herds of the huge mammals kin Does all this sound out of a book..? To me the houses of my habitat Look like colorful layered cakes, that Once might be eaten, since bricks are baked.. Or is this my imaginative facade..? Is my world, as adorable as a cat..? The hair on a child's head, is a farm Of long grass, thats black, no harm And the moss on trees looks like A field, same to ants, cling to this dike. My world is so comfortable, so warm.. To me the moon is like happiness, It grows, stays for a while, flawless.. Then shrinks, smiles and disappears, Like shooting stars that dart like spears, My world does sound to be of craziness..? My world to me is a game An arena; a playground with a name, This planet is known as Earth, blue jewel.. That hangs between heaven and hell, Life is on, My World! I exclaim!..?