It is a dark dismal day,
On a foggy street,
It is empty,
Except for me.

I am pulled toward a house,
But not by a human force,
One of my own.
A force of will,
Inside is blackness,
Darkness.

This is a prison,
Not of metal,
Nor of the soul,
One of the mind.

I am locked inside.
The window barred,
The door shut,
I see a key on the ground in front of me,
It’s an illusion.

I bend to pick it up,
But the floor beneath me fades away,
I am
Falling
Falling
Falling.

I don’t stop falling,
It just doesn’t seem like I’m moving,
Which is left,
Which is right,
Which is up,
Which is down,
Which way is the way?

How do I distinguish,
Good from bad,
Left from right,
Up from down.

There are many paths,
Both known and unknown to me.
I have no guide,
I can’t trust my sight,
Or what I see.

These paths are different,
But similar at the same time.
Some appear to be good but then fade to darkness,
I thought I knew what is bad, but how can I be sure?

Now I see the ground,
It’s coming at me faster,
And faster,
And faster.

I try to save myself,
But I’m helpless.
It’s out of my hands now,
What is simply,
Is.

The paths disappear,
The blackness dims,
But it’s not light,
It is,
What it is.

A door,
An opening,
An opportunity opens.

A hand,
Neither of light,
Nor dark,
Just . . .
Pureness,
Is stretched forth.

What happens next is my choice,
Whether I take the hand,
Or not.
Fate decides,
I decide my own fate.

I take the hand,
My sight blurs,
Darkness to gray,
Gray to white,
White turns to,
What simply is,
What it is.

My sight sharpens,
I see through the haze,
I know true good now,
I follow it, leaving the maze,
And leaving the darkness behind.