Out beyond the sphere of thought lies a garden of forgotten worlds. The small, sweet seeds of childrens dreams are planted, to grow into trees of delight and mystery. The old gardener toils alone, between avenues of jasmine-scented fantasies, wish fulfillments and dreams of dead parents. He tends the neglected brambles of imaginary friends left behind at adulthood, and strokes them gently with a brush. He pollinates and fertilizes the chaos of slumber, creating unions of minds, seeds from which new realities, new universes grow. The gardener works in silence and wonders what it must be like to dream. |
Author's Comments
Entry for =strangecolours' minimalist competition.
[link] 99 words, prose. Damn that was difficult. Update: written a poem based on the idea, here: [link] |
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Comments
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''In order to be irreplaceable one must always be different. '' Coco Chanel.
"I prefer drawing to talking. Drawing is faster, and allows less room for lies." Charles-Edouard Jeanneret "Le Corbusier"
i really liked it, tending to a child like you would tend to a garden. i have to say i never thought of it like that.
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He promised me eternity and came up short a life time.
Thank you for the favourite!
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He promised me eternity and came up short a life time.
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