Morning mist breaks the grasp of which my nightmare holds, but like a hand extended to save a drowning man comes the mist my morning hours. Ashen faces in this dream well hidden, speak no words only motions, in this darkness which is my sleep. Coldness surrounds me as fear takes its hold, for I know not these faceless words not heard. Yet their hands are like expressions of what I can not see as if to say all is well, come with me. Outstretched arms call to me with out word or sound, I fight to touch those arms outstretched for reach out I touch them not. I can not feel what is this place is it really there. The arms seem to hold me, yet can not feel their touch. Is it not against my will, then why have they not released me. Oh cry out fear, they will not hear, nor will they release me. Where is this place why am I here to behold that which is my sleep. In this place where no touch or sound is heard yet I can not leave, who are these that try to speak and no faces do I see. And why if I wish to leave am I held, yet have no will to leave The ashen faces seem not a care to have, my fear is great and their gaze to escape is there none to save me. Then comes again the morning mist that frees my mind once more. Then what has really happened will I wake to the dream for what was given. Shall I ever know what was or is real. Yet soon my sleep will come again and what will my dreams find this night will I the truth find at last, a way out given, or will I return to this, my eternal prison.
©Words the Windows to the Soul 2008 2010
Mark you do not walk alone, for many care about you, you will find your way out,the arms are of those who care for you, we are always here for you
ReplyDeleteTake care my brother
Sue