When it’s dark I can believe
that there are still leaves on the trees
and blossoms bloom outside my door.
That’s what imagination’s for.
And when I close my eyes and see
my long lost friends and family
I’m not so lonely anymore.
That’s what memory is for.
And when the world looks far too grim
I load my paintbrush to the brim
and paint a new world to explore.
That’s what inspiration’s for.
I hereby invoke the power of my poetic license to absolve me of the guilt in ending sentences prepositions with.