clouded

fog clouds the morning air, smoke clouds the eyes, and cold steel clouds my judgment. is there a time when fog lifts, is there a time when smoke fades, is there a time when the thoughts disappear. unlike fog and smoke steel is solid, always infront of me, unable to be forgotten. How did this happen to me, how did a blade take over my life, how could steel cloud my judgment. with my path clouded by fog, my eyes filled with smoke, and the blade in hand, i stand quietly. i may not be able to see the ground infro of me, or the air past the smoke, but i can see my future, and the blade wont last. i may not be able to control the fog, or the smoke filled air, but i can control my own head. I seperate myself from the steel, and wait for another challenge to arise, because my head is no longer clouded.