I often walk that narrow mountain trail
That winds between dreams and consciousness
It is neither black tar nor white dust
But simmers in sliver mists that fog
The windows of my mind.
Perhaps this is the reason I have never been able
To see with both eyes but not dream with them.

The trail drops down into rocky chasms on both sides.
Sometimes, when my feet start to tire,
I sit on my precipice
Dangling my feet over the edge of a looming abyss
And think about falling into that enveloping darkness
Though I'm not sure which abyss
Is of dreams and which is of consciousness;
Both seem equally dark.

I can always convince my brain
That I should take a chance,
Be decisive, for once
And let go of this familiar, lonely trail,
But my heart clings to these insecure ledges
And won't fling me into freedom.

So once my feet are refreshed
I stand up and begin to notice
Shifting shadows in the silver mists
And think perhaps my path is not so desolate;
Thus, I continue on that narrow mountain trail
I often walk.