A ride in the fog

Have you ever tasted a cloud?
I wonder as I ride this highway.
Drifting in this fog.
This condensed confusion between air and water.

A vacation escape, I call this ride.
From what I fail to recognize.
Escape from what?

I have traveled the world in my so called existence.
This voice in my head travels with me,
Haunting.
“I want to go home,” it says.
Taunting at the most illogical of moments.

I roll along … in this fog.

Dwellings, places, cities …
Wherever I happen to be,
Home is someplace else.
I’m tired of searching.

I roll along … in this fog,

I have come to realize:
Reality is whatever the soul decides it should be,
At a moment in time.
My existence floats and hovers through creation.
No beginning. No ending.
Hovering to a destination of anti-gravitational,
Perpetual motion.

I roll along … in this fog.

Memories of childhood, lost.
Interesting term: Memory?
Is it the past?
Am I clairvoyant to the future?
Or could it be just a passing thought,
Stalling in the mind,
Deeming itself reality?

Now, rolling along this highway,
Breathing in this cloud of reverie,
A phrase I recall haunts me as I struggle to keep my tears:
I wept for a love so pure.”
And …
In this rolling fog I taste,
A breath of Life.
I am already home….

–I roll along

fog

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