This morning the fog along my drive seemed to completely envelope my little world. It reminded me of a poem I posted early this year, so I thought I’d share it again.
The cloud forms in front of me
Separating what is beyond
But there is no going back now.
Much as I would want
To hold fast to the life behind me
There is only the mists
Into which I must go.
Smoke and vapor
Obscuring this hidden world
From the rest;
Just as they would have it here.
Who knows what’s beyond this veil?
Only those who dare press through.
But perhaps the real question is:
Who truly lives to tell the tale?