The Mist To The Shore
Confusion To Clarity
• You are far from the beach,
• It’s sand, land, and shore,
• You must row with your oar.
• You must remember before.
• Pludging In a swamp full of leech,
• Your eyes are blinded with bleach.
• In the distance,
• There is a peculiar sound.
• You look around,
• But it’s source cannot be found.
• It lingers around.
• There is dark abound,
• It shall try to make you bound,
• You fear is profound,
• It slowly compounds.
• You shall be safe and sound.
• But first, you must find safe ground.
• The fear is a hound,
• Ready to pounce & pound.
• It is on the prowl,
• It is rumbling a growl,
• It is screeching a howl.
• The fragrance of decay, debris, rot, & death,
• The stench,
• It makes you clench,
• Rotten flesh, sulphur, and rancid breath.
• The smell of all that is foul.
• The distant screeching of an owl.
• There is compounding fear,
• It is near,
• It is here.
• You must silence the violence,
• The increasing fear.
• Use your inner ear,
• & Closely hear.
• This shall keep you clear.
• The fear is in the back corners of your mind,
• A dark shroud of a cloud,
• The presence of a hiding crowd.
• Your thoughts are becoming increasingly loud.
• As you make your way away,
• Plog through the bog,
• The debris of broken logs.
There appears,
• beyond the distant pier,
• It is hard to peer,
• With the influence of the fear.
• An impenetrable and confusing smog of fog.
• You feel yourself in a clog,
• Your minds wheels a disconnected cog,
• It’s as if your intoxicated on grog.
• It clogs the mind,
• It makes clarity harder to find.
• You are not blind.
• You are not confined,
• You do not need to look behind.
• There is a whisper of a frogs croak.
• It as if you are enshrouded by a cloak.
• Do not inhale the wale of the misty smoke.
• Do not let the fear soak.
• You are amidst a mist,
• Clenching your throat with the grip of a fist.
• There is something amiss.
• You feel adrift, a rift, a swift shift within,
• It’s in your skin.
• A shark fin,
• Do not let the fear in.
• It separates you from yourself,
• As from an egg from it’s yolk,
• Apart and depart from your kin,
• Torn from your folk.
• It makes your sight dim,
• It is akin to the drinking of gin,
• It shall never allow you to awoke.
• Do not allow it to encloak,
• to envoke you with fear.
• Do not listen to it’s croak.
• Pretend it never spoke.
• This is no joke.
• You Drift on a fast raft,
• Devoid of a mast,
• It keeps you stuck in your past.
• There is the unsettling chill of a draft.
• How long shall this last?
• Shall It pass?
• Is this a pound on the door?
• A wake up call?
• Footsteps echoing down the hall?
• Is it a chiming bell?
• Time shall tell, but it may yell.
• Is it an alarm?
• Is this to cause me harm?
• There was noise,
• But now the dead silence of calm.
• The sounds of a siren,
• A SOS,
• It blares as if a fire flare,
• Do I need to beware?
• Is this a hypnotizing lullaby,
• A sirens long song?
• To invoke a deep and dreamless sleep,
• A place without tears to weep,
• Where I belong, and their is no wrong.
• To not hear the gong.
• The sirens they syre,
• Lure their victims with the music of a lyre,
• It is dire,
• Being tied to the pyre.
• To fight the flame of the fire.
• You are safe,
• You shall arrive at the moore and the shore,
• You are free to breathe,
• To grieve,
• To play, explore, and soar.
• You have all this within you,
• This and so much more,
• You are more than you know.
• You simply have to row.
About the Creator
Natasha Harrison
Healing via human connection from Trauma & Abuse.
Mental Health & Illness. Neurodiversity.
Lived Experience.
https://traumasanctuary.quora.com
https://themighty.com/u/auroranatasha
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