A heavy fog masks my landscape,
Turning delicate peaks into hidden daggers.
Vast wastelands are all that remains of my spacious fields
And every pit now seems a trap hidden from sight.
Each step taking me.
I am lost on a familiar landscape:
My heart is swollen with grief and my mind falters
under its fearful burden.
What is of value in a colorless home?
Where do you ground yourself in the mist?
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