THE FOG

To dwell in a haze where you can’t see the mirror,
always depending on a voice
for what is truth about the image.

Mind treated as a clay
that somebody always tries to mold
into their idea of life,
so dizzy from being twisted and turned,
left dazed and incapable of concentrating
on what face truly exists.

Finally stumbling out of that fog,
finding a sun that you see for the first time,
it guides you to a pool,
where the waters wash away the dirt
you never realized was clinging to your life,
underneath in its reflection
at last you see the person,
which you really never recognized.

Discovering scars you had forgotten,
also features in the profile
weren’t aware dwelled apart of your being.

Death comes to illusion,
dark talons of self hate shrivel,
suddenly light exposes the reality,
and you feel a flood of the unfamiliar
immerse with intensity,
learning it is the joy of acceptance
when coming alive in the newness
of what was meant to be.