When I am lost in the forest of bad dreams,
the branches like heavy drapes pulled against the sky,
my feet tangled by hidden vines,
I feel your sunlight
rising up from the dark earth
and kissing each step that I take.
It is not possible to feel fearful
when you have managed a communique
between worlds.
You have sunk into darkness and come through in gleams,
conscious-self, reaching
like strong armed flowers
to support me
through the quick-mud of unconscious muck. — Lucid Dreaming, Annette Marie Smith