What is, what has yet to be...

The unexpected grey area as the mists would then appear,

A sudden hindrance towards clarity, the desire for a seer,

The confusion and worry, the air so close and tight,

What is unseen shackles, coils and locks by fright,

Dense and thick fog, shrouded throughout the trail,

Hidden in the storm, covered by the veil,

“Where am I? Where do I go? How do I then take flight?

Hindered by obscurity, limited in my sight,”

The sun covered by the clouds gathered in mass,

Unsure of the pathway forward, through the mountain pass,

And yet, the irony of such worry, the lurking of the supposed wraith,

Is that any great journey starts by first taking a step of faith.

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