I think it’s a garden, A green lawn inviting the birds, Nesting within the branches And I think it’s vital moss With thankful palms upward.
I think it’s a wild jungle, With green hands reaching to heaven, Waving for God’s attention. As the clouds close in response He gives the ground even more life.
Step by step onward And a garden grows underfoot, Curling quick between My toes, wrapping around my Ankles and fruiting so sweet.
I stand by a gate, Which swings wildly in a wind. Rain smothers my face, Drowning me in the raging storm, Keeping me from the pathway.
A choice, I suppose, Between the real and the dreams. I choose to sleep on, To experience dreaming: In the clouds, in the visions.
So, I could roll it All back… back to the gamble That had two faces, The gamble I took out there That looked back while looking forward.
I follow the tracks Leading all the way back to The storm clouds above. What a journey! Adventure Through the veiled night of cloaked turmoil.
Truly, the light fades As oxygen is consumed. I possess a new Set of inward, fearful sights Blurred by the real, like raindrops.
Gasping seems to be My coping mechanism. If I’m struggling To breath then I know that things Around me must be solid.
Perhaps it would be Best to feel something for once. Feeling experience / Feeling a touch of the wind / Feeling the tightening cord /