The following poem is one from the archive, I wrote it one morning on my commute to work. The night before I’d had a dream, and the only fragments I could remember where sensations like running, having mist swirl about me and a liberating feeling of soaring/falling.


The soft edges of my vision slowly find more focus 
There is a thick mist rolling across the floor 
I am standing on an old sound stage - the floor,  
walls, ceiling are all the same washed out grey. 
Diffused light is shining from underneath the mist. 

There is no sound. 
The mist is swirling about me 
At times, washing over me in massive waves. 
It gives the air a cold damp texture. 

And now I am running 
There is a presence looming behind me, 
I know to run. 
I can't see much in front of me, the mist is thick now 
My feet continue to hit the flat smooth surface 
As I draw in a breath I hope to outrun whatever it is. 

Even though I can hear my heartbeat ringing in my ears 
my fear is a paradox of calmness 
My muscles should be starting to protest 
but they aren't. 
It is as if I could continue to run like this forever. 

The mist begins to dissipate, 
I try to look back. 
There is the salty taste of sweat in my mouth 
My feet feel a change in the surface - it is beginning uneven, unpredictable. 
I slow down a little 
I look down to try to find a smoother path but the mist is withholding that mystery. 

Where am I? 
What is happening? 
What should I do now? 
And at that moment the ground disappears from beneath me 
I am falling through the air 
I flail my arms in a desperate attempt to slow my dissent 
But there it is - the end. 

Photo by Mikhail Nilov on Pexels.com

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