Fog again.
Early in the morning,
coming in off the ocean,
your vision limited,
closed in,
the grey lives like a poison.
Your own light flickers.
You know
you need the sun,
a light larger than your own
to see again.
About this poem.
I lean a lot on my faith. Call me partially blind.
It could be about fog too.
Tom
Sometimes there is fog in life and we have to keep on with life. Wise poem, Tom;