Who's the boy that hides in corners?
Sat cross-legged and grinning at passing clouds,
his form evades detection, to the average eye.
Invisible and alone (at times).

He looks out of windows, observes raindrops drip-drop
as arcs from on high, like bitter tears, slow and deliberate.

He's dreaming of places he can root and grow, imagination.
Learning to embrace the poetry of letting go.

Letting go to love and root, a flash of endless scenic hills,
building patch-worked palaces in towering skies, crystalline vistas
in his mind, the mechanisms of his method, compulsion
of creation. 'His Imagination'.

'I am a dictate of randomness, structured into cohesion by heart
and mind beating in unison.' He thinks quietly to himself, in his corner.

'He lives in his own head for sure' they claim,
with narrowed eyes in corridors,
but few have a heart as quietly encompassing or as full,
as the boy that hides in corners.