Was feeling seriously depressed this morning, this came out while listening to some Kamelot.
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I remember this place; I’ve been here many times before.
Where the air flows silent, misty like the clouded mind that wanders here.
Silvery moonlight shines in ribbons, cutting through the fog as if to offer me clarity.
There is a river; I have felt it lap at my feet before as if to offer me comfort.
It is cold here, alone; tinges of blue cover everything while dead trees surround me, branches reaching for life that is no more.
My breath shallows as I take a step forward, my eyes seeking a destination somewhere beyond my sight.
A voice calls me from the other side, words in foreign tongue, but I know they beckon me to cross.
I listen to the wind, pushing me back as I take a step into the water, I shiver, but the voice still calls me ever more.
The fog thickens, tightening its grip on me, whispering. “Don’t leave us.”
I keep walking, up to my waist as the water laps in gentle strokes, pulling me along.
I could turn back, back to the shore, with dead trees with no lustre and the misty mornings so welcoming and cold, but I don’t, the voice calls again, I must go, take me ‘cross the river wide...
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