In the Mist

The water colored trees are dim and hazy
Melting into mist just like my thoughts,

Where is this road leading? I can barely see
The road is even here. The stones look feather soft.

My hand before my face is like a phantom hand
And sourceless notes are cawing from the sky.

I fall and catch myself against the rocks whose looks
Are really quite deceptive in the mist.

The trees that look like dreams grow all along this road.
I know they are not dreams for they can cry.

Their dew-drop tears fall on me, though they are not lost
Their roots are deep, so possibly they cry for me.

For me who walks with torn up roots that trail behind
Me as I slowly, slowly walk along.

These roots have known the soil of many places,
And now they taste the moisture of this mist.

I shiver for my hair is wet and sticks to me
The mist seeps in and makes my bones feel cold.

The trees reach out their crying arms to touch
My arm and show me they are really there.

Although I feel their touches they are wet and cold
And make my chilly body shiver more.

I hear only the cawing, feel the dripping trees
And the seeping, cool mist against my skin.

Yet I am told the sun will soon be shining,
So on I plod believing this is true.

And is this life to walk toward things we know not of
Through mist and lost roads searching for the sun?