Internal Crossroads

When the inner voice starts dreaming
of lost dark forests.
Visions of old times.
Stillness.
Silence.
In a world where you can no longer
hear your own heartbeat.
It is hard to see clearly.
It is difficult to see through the fog,
to view the true nature of things.
The whispering winds, are they telling a lie?
The purling streams carry you away.
The soft moss dries up under your naked feet
and the wishes die away like a fading, flickering flame.
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