150. Untitled (xvii)

The wind blows softly
through the trees
And the crickets sing.
The clouds stride across
the sky.
As the sun shines upon
my face,
A sense of belonging comes
over me.
And yet I am separated;
different from the beauty
that surroudns me.

It seems (as if) time stands still as
I lay in the field,
Apart from the busy world
of stress
Voices of society call me back to
the "real" world,
But I want to stay in this world -
For it is this one that is truly real.
This world - separated - and yet
untouched by the hustle
and bustle of my world.
Different, but belonging to such a creation.
It is strong - and remains this way -
but for how long?

The crickets die down and the wind stops.
A voice is heard calling me back.
At first I ignore it and close my eyes.
The voice is more persistent, louder -
Not asking, but telling me to return to
a world in which people know of
no other.

But unlike this world, I am pulled in;
I am not strong
I cannot fight the voice,
so I open my eyes -
Blinded by the sunlight.
Only to walk blindly back into a
world of imprisonment
and blindness.

(Or do I have some sight this time?)