MUSHROOM m i n d

By Steph Raymond All Rights Reserved ©

Other / Poetry

h o m e

I woke one morning with a heavy sense of nostalgia.

You know the feeling-

that

s h i v e r

that creeps through your blood stream

the drop in the heart beat before it quickens...

the sense of wonder and loss.

So sweet and terrible, and somewhere in the middle of it all-

there’s sadness.

But that’s the way of things, isn’t it?

Something so sweet, as though it were dipped in

h o n e y ,

must always turn sour if tasted too long.

I often wonder how and why this feeling persists...

Why this bittersweet emotion lies in constant vibration beneath my skin-

like humming bees hovering in wait.

But what do they wait for?

Something passed?

Something Coming?

Fuck, I can’t think straight with all this

h u m m i n g .

I can taste it on my tongue,

it somehow tastes like home-

but whispers of someplace new,

some place I’ve never known.

I can feel it in the

r a i n -

falling rain that calms the skin but wakes the soul.

In sunlight that soothes my bones

and sets my skin a g l o w .

I watch the birds glide beneath the clouds and wonder why they are not bothered by all the rain.

I sink my feet into the wet earth and wonder why there must be so much pain.

I

d r e a m e d

one night that I was standing on a mountain top

watching the mist glide beneath me like clouds being moved by the wind.

Swift and steady.

an omen-

a calling.

Here there was only calm,

only harmony.

Imagine that...

All the worry, the sickness,

the fucking voices in my head-

g o n e .

I know this place,

I think of it so often I fear I am beginning to get confused by my realities.

This type of place,

this kind of feeling...

it stays with you.

It sinks itself into your bones and

r e s o n a t e s

if only to remind you that there is something more out there.

Somewhere out there is a place of belonging.

My own belonging.

And yours too.

I could remember...

in the dream,

I felt the earth vibrating beneath my feet,

and all of the whispers of the world with it.

O n e n e s s .

C o n n e c t i o n .

When I woke-

my bones felt empty.

Hollow.

Gone was the phantom call-

the siren song to bring me home.

The wind has taken it,

but alas, it has not taken me.

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