By: Eric Gray
It’s a gnarled path through the thick woods
The nights are cold and lonely
This often visited place sees few
A world within a world
I escape to this land
Waiting for another
To create life force
As a reflection of us.
As I roam, see past places
Forged by people long gone
I’m on an island,
Or still in the woods?
This place changes like a dream.
Is it real?
hard to tell
what’s real and what is not
Where does Truth become Lie?
Where does Reality meet Imagination?
This plane can’t be touched with hands
But it can be felt through them.
In the medium through which true connections felt,
You can be heard without ever opening your mouth.
Felt by all, acknowledged by few.
I will forever roam this place.