I was walking in a fog on streets that were unknown to me.
I knew the sun existed beyond the haze,
I could feel it’s presence and promise but it had yet to burn away
The despairing cloud.
I walked on through the swirling mist,
with short sighted vision and steps unsure.
There were others. I knew there were,
I could hear them wandering much like myself,
not really lost just unable to find a way through the shroud,
a wicked mistery.
Perhaps we’ll meet.
I grew fearsome for I knew not what lay before me.
The pavement uneven and broken beneath my feet.
My hearing muted and dull.
My skin was damp and cold,
But I walked on, struggling with each step.
Stumbling and falling. Rising to walk again.
Torn clothing and scarred knees,
my palms, red and raw from sometimes crawling
just to keep moving forward.
I knew what lay behind, lost within the fog,
no longer in sight but living in memory.
I could not go back nor stay where I had come to.
I was compelled to continue.
And so I did,
for somewhere there was a horizon,
“The fog will lift” I tell myself.
I am sure it will dissipate as the day grows older.
I’m certain of this.
I think it will.
Stand, walk, stumble, fall, creep and crawl.
Feel the road ahead, arise, keep going.
With will determined, a path unclear
I seek the sun.
Now a small and glowing beacon before me.
One foot before the other.
I shall find it and
stand naked in the sunset, bare and bleeding.
A journey ended and begun.
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