A rise to the surface, pulling away the cobwebs of a dream and simultaneously holding onto them, like shards of a crystal, starting to shatter into their many facets.
The voices repeat themselves whispering truths, exclaiming themselves in a toned drawl of words, over and over.
Skimming across the many faces, some familiar and others, which morph as the attention lingers.
Walking across the field effortlessly in a gusting wind whilst the path path unfolds in the direction it needs to take.
Night owls appear in their own shadow of darkness, watching, blinking and ever alert to the movements.
Eagles , hawks and falcons permeate the air and the imagination with their presence, creating the down draft ahead which parts the grasses showing the path and the way ahead.
The talons touch the shoulder seemingly lacerating the skin without drawing blood as they soar with the flaccid skin of the body, time after time, slowly exposing the essence of what is, without the built up facades.
Approaching a house with a gate and no path.
Filled with roses, perfumed with the air of expectation.
The washing line holds the pegged skins of the multiple personalities of self.
The keeper of the house rests on the porch.
The wolf like orbs pierce through the veils and stir the memories.
Sitting and watching the darkness approaches.
Candle light flood the portals of the house as the door gently swings open.
Stepping inside, the light brightens and the warmth causes a drowsiness of peace.
Succumbing to sleep the light travels and becomes fainter in it's own brightness.
Finally, the cobwebs dissappear and the journey continues.
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