Fog

There is a veil over my eyes,
One thick, and made of fog,
Made of years of sighs,
And risen from a malodorous bog,

 

Reach out towards it I might,
But I shall sink into it,
Floundering and nothing but gray in sight,
Until I scramble out, and on the ground sit,

 

Staring into that curtain,
I feel it difficult to breathe, 
For it is evil and uncertain,
But to not know, makes me seethe,

 

I want to remember my history,
But, through the pain and sorrow, it is lost to me.

This poem is about: 
Me
My family
My community

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741