Summer is gone, the cold winds of winter are near. <br />One voice, deeply ingrained, calls to me... <br />It is a sound I have heard before.. <br /> <br />'Come out' it sighs, 'Come out and stay' it suggests <br /> <br />'Stay where', I ask, concerned at the answer. <br /> <br />The wind is whistling now, inviting <br />and inciting me to new levels of distress. <br /> <br />'With me', the voice answers, slightly aggressive. <br />'Stay with me and be free' cries the words in my mind. <br /> <br />'But free, what is free? ' I reply. <br /> <br />The dream cascades gradually down <br />the interior zone of the mind, <br />down it comes slowly, suggesting <br />the answers are no longer mine. <br /> <br />'Freedom is the beginning of acceptance' <br />moans the odd voice in my heart <br />'Freedom is the illusion of the soul' <br />it further explains. <br /> <br />'I'm afraid', I whimper, <br />'Afraid to see what lies ahead'. <br /> <br />And the wind howls now outside <br />the windows of my fantasy. <br /> <br />'Ahead lies the future' exclaims the voice <br />'each day you begin the process of death'. <br /> <br />And I tremble, just now realizing <br />I have been talking to myself.<br /><br />Chris G. Vaillancourt<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/summer-is-gone-and-voices-arrive/
