The fog surrounds me, thick and cold,
A shroud of silence, vast and old.
Its grip seeps deep, a bitter chill,
Yet deeper still, my doubts lie still.
It shifts and stirs with restless breath,
Whisper fears, unspoken depth.
Each shadow twists, its form unclear,
Yet somehow each feels too near.
Sounds echo softly, disarrayed,
A step that comes yet does not fade.
And in the mist, I see the truth:
This fog is drawn from my roots.
It is not the world that clouds my view,
But fears and scars I never knew.
These shadows rise, but now I see,
They are fragments, reflections of me.
With each new step, a shadow bends,
No longer foe, but quiet friend.
I face myself, and light begins,
To break the fog that lies within.
I walk through mists, now less opaque,
The air grows lighter as shadows break.
Emerging change, I come to find,
The fog was always in my mind.