It’s time for me to write my thoughts,
But the mist has formed around my forest,
Blocking out all rays of thought.

Today’s day seems plain in sight,
As I sit here, watching my thoughts all take flight.
There’s no where to land.
No where to stand.

The fog blocks the patterns and pages.
A lot of illnesses have this at later stages.
The mind’s eye cataracted in the artist.
A mere figment of my imagination.

To the story board I fly,
Hoping today is the day I try.
Where my pen’s ink finally reaches the pages,
And captures the beautiful view after the morning’s mist clears.

_____________________

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