Aphantasia

Tonight, I was forced to be God.

Far past daydreams,

she was not to be imagined.

Not pictured by the fairest of thoughts,

by the simplest of imaginative processes.

Tonight, I was forced to be God.

The aphantasia had challenged reverie,

she was inconceivable to elementary musing,

Impossible to perceive

by the mortal instruments of human memory.

Tonight, I was forced to be God.

I was to be influenced by glinting stars,

by comets grazing dissipating clouds –

and the fated day

healing from colorful pigmented scars.

Tonight, I was forced to be God.

I had to be reminded of her

through the whispers of wind and its rise,

brushing my ear tips,

I, receiving, of all its lovely-crafted lies.

Tonight, I was forced to be God.

I’d sketch her image

from guavas, pomegranates, and pears,

a figure unforeseen,

in good taste to my immovable and guising stare.

Tonight, I was God.

Architect her from visual angle,

Echoes of semblance,

to create her in written word

through what the quintessence of nature enabled.