Dense Fog

There's a tick foggy veil on my face
that doesn't let me see any brigthness,
my feet drag the damp autumnal leaves,

laying on the greyish ground,

in every deep step I take forwards.

Weaving delicate and fragile

spiderwebs in the deepest part of my soul
I feel the sewing needles, but
I won't look back.

Blurry silhouettes in the distance,

giant trees and huge phantoms of the past,

the rain will clear up the canvas of my life
and I'll begin a new painting at last.

Drawing with a steady hand on the

white paper a new path through the
greenish woolen fields of life,
I won't look back.

'My way will be where my feet are, where the wind takes me'

Gema