Waking II

Sometimes I blink, here, and
feel I wake-up, walking
in the bright day, and wonder
how I made it here - am
I really here?  I see it, I
don't see it, I doze, I wake
and can hardly believe it -
I escaped my prison, my
dungeon, with my body at
least - now I wait for my
sense and my spirit to catch-up,
for my soul to split apart
and the real me to look out
and see the glancing sky
and realise I truly am
in this place, my new home,
before my very eyes.

Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem