I remember a light of song.
A plane without fear, doubt.
There was no time, there was no pain.
Kind words from the grey mists.
Warm winds of inspiration and hope
undercurrents gently gliding me further.
For the moment
there were no thoughts of greatness
no concern with triumph
or who I had left behind.
All was well.
All was light, love, and illusion.
It was so fragile. The moment I spoke truth,
reason collided with fantasy
like a wrecking ball through paper prison-walls.
I was cold again.
Surrounded in dark, thundering dull.
My limbs wreathed in agonizing shackles of air-starved flesh
The pressure behind my skull,
the desperation in my throat
I resurfaced in a tidal wave of thrashing terror
water
water everywhere
coming out of holes I didn't know I had
coughed in shocked spray.
There was no awe
no gratitude or relief.
I was back from the dead
back from the first quiet and peace I had ever known.
Even if that peace was just a fading glimpse after a lie.
If life is but a dream
then when do I get to wake up?
