You reach for the hand of God.
Empty as the first time you stretched it out.

My gift to you is the emptiness that should
take hold and make you question.

I am the fog.

Painful are the needles of the night's darkness,
but if you can't see them will it matter?

Turn back around and upside down.
Wondering how you have gotten so lost.

I am the fog.

Phantom whispers of the past
are the only company you keep.

Don't speak aloud to them or
else the ghosts will think you are crazy.

I am the fog.

Take tiny steps hoping to find
some sort of edge for guidance.

After a while the steps turn
to ever growing strides.

I am the fog.

Don't stop running you say aloud.

That's when the silence finally grips you.

I am the fog.