fog clouds the morning air,
smoke clouds the eyes,
and cold steel clouds my judgment.
is there a time when fog lifts,
is there a time when smoke fades,
is there a time when the thoughts disappear.
unlike fog and smoke steel is solid,
always infront of me,
unable to be forgotten.
How did this happen to me,
how did a blade take over my life,
how could steel cloud my judgment.
with my path clouded by fog,
my eyes filled with smoke,
and the blade in hand, i stand quietly.
i may not be able to see the ground infro of me,
or the air past the smoke,
but i can see my future, and the blade wont last.
i may not be able to control the fog,
or the smoke filled air,
but i can control my own head.
I seperate myself from the steel,
and wait for another challenge to arise,
because my head is no longer clouded.