A Silent Whisper #12

The Fog I Roamed Through fog I roamed with lantern dim, Its glow grew weak, the world grew grim. I walked with grace, yet cold and bare, And whispered truths to silent air. I neared a pit with cautious tread, The flame was out, the warmth had fled. I felt the walls—both sharp and wet, Yet pain, it seems, had not struck yet. I climbed and gasped with aching lungs, While leaves beneath me cracked and clung. The trees grew tall with branching maze, I knelt and closed my weary gaze. Then woke beneath familiar light— Hello again, old ceiling white.