The Magic Forest, Edvard Munch

forever forward motion yet we feel swept off our feet all of it is true of course just as the mud is picturesque from afar we see the distance thinking, if I could just get there then the mud slides underfoot the trees look away reach out instead to the unseen nothing is solid enough to keep me upright nor soft enough to cushion my fall an idea to scramble, change track I should, could but never will as there is a transparency to me filling me with shame, I am little more than a wisp making out I somehow understand how I get out of here there is so much beauty and possibility in this when viewed from far away but close up it really does not look that way