The skies are a lovely shade of pink this morning,
and the seas look ever beautiful reflecting it.
And though everything is open and clear
I can't help but adhere
to the scene in my head; I am lost in a jungle
and the canopy is thick, there is no Tyndall effect.
No light leaks, no sunshine,
it can be morning or night, but in my head,
there is nothing known as time.
It's a globe or a circle, with no beginning, no end.
I walk, and walk, and walk,
and step over the same ferns, bleed because of
the same sharp thorns, hop over the same stalk.
But outside my head, it's a beautiful day,
and I can breathe, watch the clouds
as if I'm watching a painting, which it perhaps is,
because no matter how warm the ways are outside,
I am still in the jungle and I still can't feel the light.