Lost

Surrounded in a growing darkness, blinded in the low lying fog, chilled in the gentle mist, I am lost. Everywhere I look I see the grayness and murkiness of the fog that seems determined to stay. How I long when I was bathed in sunlight, on bright glorious days. It seems I have walked in this wet forest, circling this stagnate bog, for so long. I’m chilled to the bone with nowhere to warm myself, no fire to draw close to, no shelter in which to hide. There is no soft bed to lay my weary head, as I grow so tired, no, exhausted from this ever onward journey that takes me nowhere. I can find no fresh water so I might drink deep and be refreshed. I long for food to fill this emptiness that gnaws at me. The aches run deep and the hope grows dim. It’s ever the coming of night and never the breaking of dawn; always reaching an end and never the start of a new beginning. The color of gray, that lights my way, may change for the lighter or darker, but it’s always gray. Sometimes so close to the black of night, but never to the bright of day. I’m lost so deep in this mire that I have lost all hope of finding my way out. The darkness is ever present and the mist so thick that there is no way to see my way out. I would not choose to sit and give up, to remain here forever, but someone must find me because I have lost the will to find myself. Someone, stronger than I, must rescue me, if I am even worthy of being rescued. Am I lost in this dark mire because this is where I belong? Do I feel as though a little of me is dying part by part as punishment for what I am and what I am not? Or by some miraculous chance could I be rescued, only to be shown that I was living a lie? Whatever the answer may be, may I die now if there is no way out, or may I be rescued and find myself in the life of the living once again.

Melissa Fitzwilliam (written in March)