Vision Of An Afterlife

The stir of slumber slowly creeps,
In the back of the blissfull morgue.
Eternal rest.

It's slippery fingers carress my eyelids,
Blinking.
Blinking.
All the while pondering my duties,
Life's aims.
Secrets.

A mysterious fog surrounds me as i tred,
Carefully positioning my feet,
The grass grows longer,
every second,
Swallowing my faded ankles.

A cry draws near,
closer.
The sound of a disturbed baby fills the air.
Breathless.

Silence.
No cry, no fog.
No grass, no hand.
Just me.
Alone.

Back in the morgue,
My Reality.