A crack between two sore crusty eyelids,

On a foggy soaked morning,

Smells of freshly baked cakes,

Seeping through an unclosed window,

Stained from the storm the day before,

Industrial clanging and the heaving of tools,

Screeching of tyres on slippery streets,

A mire of muddled thoughts begins to form,

 

Captured like a fly on a sticky spider’s web,

I struggle to open both eyes to the world,

My foggy brain kicks against my foggy heart,

And I cover my head with the crisp cotton duvet,

Arguments form in the fog of my conscious,

To do or not to do, that is my question,

 

I sip from a clear glass of stale, tepid water,

And pray that the mist soon lifts from my sight,

And Lo! Like an angel descended from heaven,

A call from a loved one hands me a guide rope,

And now, through the fog I navigate slowly,

To the undying truth that is waiting to greet me,

In a safe golden light, from where freedom speaks to me,

That I am no longer adrift in the fog.

 

Foggy

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