What is it that pulls me back?
I am never sure
What is deeply hidden?
There are not even colours to stir the senses
Just pain in all its varied hues
I am stranded, suspended in time
Flowing aimless upon the swell of the sea
Again and again
Shall always persuade me
Losing myself over and over
Moments and memories
Attracted by the inviting light
Yet I can feel the sharp edge of memories
All but figments of illusion
A finespun silken rigging
Which trembles with the thunder
That eternally rolls
Across the field of dreams
Assailed by doubts
In the face of strong winds of indecision
Responding to some inner voice
Finally and reluctantly
Turning to go
© Ann Bagnall and AnnieB222.com, 2013.