Pt 8 - Poem by Jane Sparkes

Like a fog curling around my senses
The need to see evaporates into the alchemy of my dreams again
Slip into the warmth of twisted words and let the humid cloud
be richly blinding in colour to make short of reality's cool ardour.
Rain down upon the need to feel the sky and touch the bottom of the earth to steady me
Or would it just break the inevitable fall when the mist rises
Leaving just barren truths and a cold light of day?
Comfort is in itself the pain of landing
It is at least real and an end to a fall to reach that can take a lifetime
But only if you are really lucky