Drifting softly . . .

This is something I wrote, just today in fact. It has to do with some personal stuff, but I thought it good enough to put up here. Er, it's a kind of poem.


~Drifting Softly~

Drifting softly, do I fall?

My world, a quiet abyss
Sounds, sights, smells, strangely muted
Not quite sensory depravation
I find it quite peaceful.

My world of shades of gray
There are happy moments of gray rainbows
They fade quick, gone before long
They keep me apprised of myself.

Hardly anything happens, here
In my gray abyss
Time passes before I notice it
Along with the people.

But oh! What is this?
I see a spark
I feel a tiny flame
An echo of an inferno once felt

Unlike the conflagration, this does not burn
I feel . . . warm?
What is this? There are clouds?
Are they breaking?

Such gray clouds they are
I never noticed.
And, there’s something else.
What is it?

It is bright and it burns, but not me.
I it ignores it seems
A great fire in the sky
My tiny flame burns with it.

I feel not an echo now
Nay, this is different
Slower, less painful I think
I think I like it

Who is this? Who could spark such a thing?
How did you do it, this wonderful feeling?
I feel I am drifting on a stream
I feel I am falling past blaze after blaze, finding only this.

Drifting softly, do I fall?